


just like heaven

by lyssy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bonding, Character Study, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and no one's surprised, but not really, just like heaven, keith's an introvert, lance is a ghost, love rivals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2018-09-06 03:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8732977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyssy/pseuds/lyssy
Summary: Keith's got a second sight that comes with a lot of burdens. One is being saddled with banishing an obnoxious spirit haunting Hunk and Pidge's cozy San Francisco loft.The other is dealing with said obnoxious spirit, a guy named Lance, who doesn't remember who he is, who his family is, or what he did before falling into a coma.But with Lance's life on the line, the pair make a deal to figure out how to save him, and fast. Along the way, they find out fate tied them together in more ways than one.





	1. friends in need

Half an hour before light, Lance was awoken by the sound of rain. Rain on wall, coconut, and petal trapped within the confines of white linen. The sound above the noise of the fan was the pitter-patter of a morning storm, and the world was waking. 

So, once again, Lance had felt in total control of his life. He'd torn open the letter to his fate in nervous motions before his mailbox at dawn, and there it read:  _ Fighter Class_. He could bid a sweet farewell to being a silly cargo pilot. He hugged the letter so tight to his chest that it wrinkled. He had worked so hard, and now the chips were finally falling into place.

Rain was bleating down hard on the windshield of his blue chevy the night he was to meet with his sister. Lance was already running late, and Lori would have a fit if he tried bailing last minute again. He chanced a glance at the time above the radio - 7:37 p.m. - and then whipped his phone out as he turned on Jennings St.

"Hey, it's me," his voice was full of smirk. "I know I'm running late, but my professor would just not let me go today."

"Aw, it's fine, they're not even here yet," Lori's voice crackled over the receiving end.

"Great," Lance said curtly, and then practically bounced in the driver's seat. "But, uh, anyways, I've got big news!"

"What happened?"

"I got upgraded to fighter class!"

"Oh, my god!" Lori squealed. "Lance, that's so great! Ah, I'm bringing out the champagne for this."

Lance laughed into the receiver. "Alright, awesome. I'll be there in a minute, then. Bye."

"Bye!"

Nothing could kill Lance's mood that night. His attention trained to the radio, and he cranked the volume knob higher. His eyes had only left the road for a second, flitting up to the fateful blare of a car horn.

White light encompassed his vision.

And then he was gone.

 

\---

_Winter ; _

 

The air filtering throughout the cafe was bittersweet of coffee beans and freshly baked pastries. It was just the right allure for bookworms meandering throughout the expansive Barnes & Noble. The particular afternoon was quiet, save for teenagers giggling nonsense in the magazine aisles adjacent to the mini Starbucks.

Work hours were perfectly flexible for a student like Keith Kogane, and the phone vibrating in his pocket was the sweet apprise of break time for him.

Death was definitely working him. He'd started part-timing again at the beginning of the summer. A bright suggestion from Shiro, who had sent one too many looks of concern before Keith decided he had had it with the incessant pity.

_ 'I just want you to socialize more,'  _ Shiro had said.  _ 'I'm worried about you.' _

If anything, it was Shiro who deserved sympathy after last year's accident. Shiro accepted Keith's numerous apologies. And excuses. Shiro was too kind of a man for his own good, and that's why he was the way he was. Any blame for the accident, Shiro pinned it on the ghosts. They were always to blame.

They were always so demanding, wandering around perpetually whiny or confused. They were the root of every migraine and hideous throb to Keith's temples. He had begun seeing them when he was twelve, after his foster mother had passed away. She had been one of the closest people in his life, and it had triggered something within him from then on. A gift to a secret sense. But his gift had gone sour quickly, and most ghosts were all the same. They experienced the same emotions like a broken record. And they would only leave until they got what they wanted from Keith and were able to pass on.

Until last year, he had used his gift to help the dead communicate with the living. Until the worst case. He elected to ignore ghosts after that. He'd pretend to see right through them—which was easy, considering all ghosts were physically transparent—no matter how troubled they seemed. Life was easier this way, even if he was now lonelier than ever. Only his stepbrother had quickly become concerned with the idea of Keith's loneliness becoming him, and that was another pain itself.

Keith took the escalator to the second floor of the bookstore during break, maneuvering throughout the aisles until he found his friend Rolo pushing a cart and re-stacking books. Rolo glanced over his shoulder, a brief smirk flitting over rugged features. He kept pushing the cart.

Despite being few years his senior, they shared a lot in common, from their quirky tastes in books to a certain special gift. Only Rolo's second sight came down to reading auras, so he'd said. Odd, but Keith wasn't one to call someone out when he himself was the victim of skeptics. Rolo also lacked know-how of Keith's entire code of boundaries. In one of the more embarrassing cases, Rolo had actually tried setting Keith up on a blind date during the summertime. With his luck, he'd been stood up. And that had become yet another memory to keep locked in the vault, along with every other pathetic experience in the seer's not-so-fantastic life.

Keith went out of his way and moved into the path of the book cart. Rolo stopped.

"Well?" Keith prompted.

"Well what?" Rolo asked after a beat, playing dumb and scratching the scruff on his chin.

Keith's mouth set into a tight pout, furrowing his eyebrows in translation:  _ Don't make me say it. _

Rolo contained a laugh, huffing it through his nose before making a showy gesture and pulling out a hardcover from inside the cart before him.  _ 'Mothman: Fact or Fiction?'_

"Just came in this morning," Rolo said with a smile.

"Yeah," Keith snatched it from his friend's hand, a meager grin flashing over his face. "Yeah, he just released it last week. Guy hasn't written in ages.. I'm just glad I got it before anyone else did."

"Yeah, like someone was gonna fight you for Mothman," Rolo joked with a wry smile, turning. "Let's ring it up at the counter."

Keith peered at the inside of his book, calling behind Rolo. "Someone definitely would've fought me for Mothman."

At the counter, Rolo checked out Keith's book, tearing a receipt and sliding over extra change. A nickel, a dime, and a penny.

"Keep it," Keith said, engrossed in the book and leaning over the counter.

"Very generous of you," said Rolo.

Distraught chitchat drew near throughout the second floor in the distance. Emerging from the children's area, Keith's classmates Pidge and Hunk walked towards the counter.

"We weren't actually looking there," Pidge adjusted her leather shoulder strap, dainty features wincing in sheer embarrassment. "There was a train set. Hunk wanted to look—"

"Hey," Hunk warned.

"—Hunk and I, we wanted to look, um." Pidge pushed her large spectacles further up her nose.

That's when Keith noticed the dark circles shadowing her eyes. "You guys need some help?" Keith asked instinctively, and he regretted letting the question leave his lips the instant he said so.

The pair remained quiet a moment, as if internally deciding who should speak up first.

Hunk took a step forward. "Okay, well, um, this is gonna sound weird, but we have a bit of a problem."

"Bit of a  _ huge _ problem," Pidge corrected behind him.

Keith and Rolo exchanged blank glances.

"See, we got this sweet deal on an apartment, but the thing is—"

"We have a ghost in our apartment!" Pidge blurted, stepping up to the check-out counter and shooting a look up at her roommate. "There, I said it."

Keith's stomach went tight as a wire. He bit the inside of his cheek to stave a flat out rejection to what he felt coming.

"Can you help us?" Pidge asked, going puppy-eyed on cue.

Keith was perfectly still and looked from Pidge to Hunk, who both wore soft, pleading faces. Well, that would work no more.

"I don't do that anymore," Keith sighed, grabbing his belongings. "I'm sorry, you're gonna have to find someone else."

"Keith, please!" Pidge grabbed his elbow from behind, which nearly sent him stumbling. He'd known Pidge a while, and he knew for a fact she was never one to beg or bargain. In fact, Pidge could be perfectly ruthless when need be. But her eyes, they were so big, tired. "You know I'm just as big of a fan of the paranormal as you are, but this—it's different. We're scared."

Rolo, who had stayed quiet on the side, actually paid his two cents to the conversation. "Keith, c'mon. It's just one case."

Keith shot a glare towards Rolo, offended he had even dared to act like the task was so easy. Ghosts were never easy.

"It's not just noises, Keith," Hunk said. "We've seen stuff! It's really freaking us out."

"Just come take a look, Keith," Pidge had let him go. "We'll pay you! Just try."

"If you don't do it for them, man, at least do it for the money." Oh, quiznak, was Rolo still talking?

"One look, Keith, that's all we're asking for."

"Okay, that's enough!" Keith's voice jumped, and not a peep came from his friends, who then donned wounded expressions.

They had no place to tell Keith how to use his gift or why, no matter what. After he quit, though, he was sure everyone must have thought of him as a coward. He was anything but.

"I can't do it, Pidge. Hunk," he looked at him. "I can't, I'm sorry."

He watched Pidge's shoulders sink. Hunk sighed apologetically, lifting his hands at his sides and dropping them in defeat. Rolo wasn't saying a word now, eyes fixed to the counter. And that was that. Keith turned on his heels with one last apologetic glance and disappeared into an aisle.

"Call us if you change your mind!" Hunk called from behind, and then a little  _ thwap _ sounded after. Pidge had smacked his arm.

 

\---

After the afternoon dwindled to night and his shift was over, Keith had wandered back to the second floor, scouting newer releases in a quiet corner of the store. But his mind was on the earlier encounter with Pidge and Hunk. He wished guilt hadn't nested itself in his stomach.

Suddenly, a light chill ghosted up the back of his neck, and he ruffled the longer tufts of ebony hair veiling it. The whole point of his ridiculously shaggy hair was to quell the shivers that came whenever a lost soul wandered too close. Keith turned, once hardened gaze going soft at his new company. "I thought I heard you earlier."

An old spirit stood beside him, scoping the bookshelves with focused eyes. His name was Henry. He was an old man who'd passed in his late sixties and was a regular around the neighborhood. He was never bothersome to Keith. In fact, the reason his ghost still lingered was rather sweet. He stayed watching over his wife. Naturally, it was quick for ghosts to realize the state of their being, but his love for his wife kept him anchored to Earth. Keith's heart warmed at that, which was incredibly rare, and his spirit had always remained welcome for conversation.

"Linda's been talking about new recipes for Christmas," Henry blinked behind large tortoise glasses.

"Want me to suggest a new book to her?" Keith asked.

Henry was quiet a beat, hands shoving in his corduroys as he studied the shelves again. "What are you reading? _.._ _Ha_ _ndbook_ _of Aeronautic Knowledge_ _?_ Oh, no."

"It's...a lot cooler than it sounds," Keith tried.

"I'm sure it is," Henry laughed softly and turned back to Keith. He looked like he had something on his mind. "What was that thing earlier? You didn't look too happy."

And there it was.

"Not you too," Keith rolled his eyes, reshelving a book. "I'm not explaining myself a second time."

"Now, wait a minute, wait a minute," Henry started, and Keith remained a little reluctant to hear his voice of reason. "Your friends looked really scared back there."

"Yeah, but—"

"There's something you can help with," Henry said. "You know it's been a while since you've talked to someone."

"What's your point?" Keith grabbed his bags, gaze not once staying on the elder man.

"Well, my, my point is that you should help 'em out. You haven't been yourself since you quit, and this seems like a great opportunity to start again."

"Yeah? And why would I? So I can repeat what happened last year? Thanks, but no thanks." Keith walked past Henry, checking each aisle was clear. The last thing he needed tonight was for someone to look at him like he was a complete lunatic.

"No," Henry spoke evenly. "Because you know it's the right thing to do."

Keith turned around at that, brows lifting in brief surprise. He couldn't believe Henry was actually lecturing him. Granted, it wasn't the first time, but still.

"You don't want to be the ghost guy, and you don't want to be the jackass either, so which one are you?"

Keith scowled. "Neither."

"Exactly."

"So, what do you think I should do?" Keith crossed his arms, waiting for the words that might make him care.

"I think you need to get back out there," Henry said. "You've said it yourself before, you sewed the seeds. You can undo what you did. You're letting the past run your life, and it's pushing people further away. Being alone isn't fun, son... I'd know."

Keith hated when the dead guy made sense. He'd heard enough of this from Shiro, even Allura, but Henry was always a middle ground.

He turned his back on the ghost, fisting the book bag in his hand and staying his ground like a stubborn child. Henry's voice was just above a whisper.

"Next time Linda's here, tell her to try making pineapple upside-down again. I miss that. It's one of my favorites."

Keith sighed, rotating to get another word in to Henry. But he was gone.

 

\---

The cold wind whistling around the curves of San Francisco's streets made Keith's teeth chatter as he walked home. The laundries, jewelers, groceries, and boutiques were all closed, but the the various social pubs and clubs were open. Their liquor drenched rooms permeated the thin city atmosphere. A trio of drunk tourists stumbled out of a restaurant talking loudly of heading over to the next bar. Keith's memory of that place wasn't entirely delightful. That's where he'd been stood up.

He was never a romantic anyway. But he would be a liar if he said it was something he hadn't craved, either. His reclusive life as a seer was much too crowded for another. Yet here he was, twenty years old and living like a forty year old spinster. Even his classmates that weren't too close to him knew him well enough to say things like,  _ 'Keith, you're so lucky that all you have to worry about is work', _ to which he served back a tight-lipped, barely there smile and uncertain nod.

Yup. He certainly was as lucky as they came.

Keith tried not to take the words inside, but they'd already settled there. He truly had no one. And that's when the question peaked.

Could he really redeem himself from being the moody medium? Maybe, he thought, maybe he could get the good word spread from Pidge and Hunk, if he really did help their so-called uninvited guest pass on to the other side. Maybe people would be understanding enough to not pity him and his choices to run solo. Perhaps Henry's vague fortune cookie-like advice really was the solution that could turn his life back around.

Keith moved slowly toward his building. Above him, yellow-warmed windows dotted the building facades, forming urban constellations. Fake, he thought, all veiling the true blue giants that twinkled beyond human eyesight way down in San Francisco.

It hit him.

That's just what he'd do. Fake the investigation, get rid of the ghost, even stretch the tale of how he cleansed Hunk and Pidge's apartment—maybe say it was once inhabited by a malicious entity. Then people would get it. They would understand, and they would leave it alone. All he wanted was an eternal ticket to happiness. If he had to construct a white lie for it, so be it.

From his coat pocket, Keith retrieved his phone and tapped a name in his short list of contacts. The dial tone rang three times before a voice answered. "Hello?"

"Hi, yeah, Hunk," Keith heeled a crack in the pavement. "I think I'd like to take you up on that offer."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, this is based on that reese witherspoon movie. and yes, this au is positively perfect for these dorks. (p.s. if you've seen the movie, you won't have to worry.) stay tuned!


	2. uninvited guest, ft. the razberita mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith's staying over at Hunk and Pidge's, Shiro's dropping some life advice... oh, and a wild spirit named Lance nags Keith into shock! There's raspberry foam everywhere!

~~~~"So this is the main hall," Pidge made a gesture to her right upon entry of the flat. "That's Hunk's bedroom down the end."

"That'll be your room for the rest of the week," Hunk added as Keith pulled his little carry-on over the threshold. "Pidge is a regular hoarder."

"Hey!" Pidge protested.

The deal was, Keith was to stay there for a week. A day prior, Hunk and Pidge dropped on him that they'd be staying with Pidge's parents until the coast was clear. Only now that Keith was there, he could understand why the two remained reluctant to leave.

The apartment had an unusually pleasant air to it. Set on the top floor of a Victorian house, it had an open-plan kitchen and living room, two bedrooms, and a vast bathroom. The floor was laid with wide slats of deep chestnut; cream walls were hung with creative art, and coconut-fiber rugs edged in jute laid in the dining area. And then there was a nice, inviting loveseat facing the hearth of a fireplace and tv.

After the brief tour of the residence, the two tenants had introduced him to the open-access roof behind a door down the hall. The view was rivetingly beautiful, and private for their loft, too. He could see the Golden Gate Bridge from where he'd been standing, suspended like a hyphen between the two sides of the Bay, veiling rolling hills and the marina. Just out below, roofs of various complexes and buildings descended like steps towards the glittering sea. Keith could only imagine how gorgeous it would be when the city was sleeping, and the sky would be so open, he was sure even the weakest of telescopes could make out the constellations above.

Anyone would've been hesitant to leave. Two students renting out such a steal. There had to be a catch, somehow. No way was this place not burning holes in their pockets.

They led him back down to the flat. Keith walked until he found himself rotating in the middle of the living area, pocketing his hands in his coat and exchanging hard glances between the two. "Okay, what gives?"

"What do you mean?" Hunk brought his luggage to the edge of the couch.

"The place was fully furnished when we moved in," Pidge answered knowingly. "It's a sublet."

"Why?" Keith asked.

"Why, exactly," Pidge said. "The family was really tight-lipped about it. You know the rest."

"I knew it," Hunk folded his arms. "I knew it, and I told you it was too good to be true, Pidge."

"It was a great month-to-month plan. I mean, look at this place, it's amazing!"

Pidge was right. Keith loved their apartment, and he could hardly believe the possibility of a dead person roaming through such warm halls.

He approached the round window seat adjacent to the living room overlooking the stretch of city outside. He knew for a fact that Shiro and Allura would love this place, love watching the sailboats gliding through the Bay. Keith watched a trolley coast down the street below.

"Like a dream, huh?" Pidge asked behind him. He turned and saw that she was donning a broad smile, so unlike the day she'd been at his work. Her regular pep bounced back fast, and it was probably the idea of ditching the so-called haunted loft for the rest of the week.

"Yeah," Keith felt the ghost of a smile.

"And you wanted to let this place go," Pidge shook her head back at Hunk.

Hunk raised his hands in defense. "If anything happened, I didn't want to be held responsible. Come on, you've seen those movies! They always go after the kids."

Pidge rolled her eyes in good nature, tucking fists to her armpits and flapping her elbows up like a spring chicken. "Oh, bock-bock."

"Hey, just cause you skipped a few grades doesn't make you any wiser. It actually takes a lot to freak me out, and this was, like, beyond freaky-deaky!"

"Whatever," Pidge said with a cool smile, snugging on a blue knit beanie. She gave Keith's arm a pat. "You gonna be okay from here?"

"I'm sure I can manage," Keith gave a little laugh, and Hunk went to retrieve his and Pidge's luggage in the foyer.

He walked across the flat and stood between the dining and living area as Pidge moseyed towards the door with a little skip to her step. He could tell for sure now it easier on her now that she didn't have to feel on edge at every corner. Keith would be lying if he said he didn't take a grain of pride in the surety of Pidge's reliance on him.

"Keys are on the kitchen counter," Hunk clapped a hand on Keith's shoulder and kept his voice at a minimal. "Thanks for doing this, man. This last month's been really hard on her.. And I know things last year weren't the best for you, either, so—"

"She's really toughing it out," Keith interrupted, thick brows pinching up. No way was he going to let Hunk finish whatever apology he was about to say. And no way was he going to argue with a guy so big-hearted, either. "I'll be fine, Hunk, thanks."

Hunk's round face formed a soft smile, sensing the silent plea. He got the picture and strode to the door.

"Let us know if anything happens!" Pidge called back, unsuspecting. "Like, anything cool."

"You got it," Keith said.

"Text us deets!" Hunk added, and then he shut the door behind him.

Calm reigned the silence of the apartment. Keith hadn't realized he'd been wearing a feeble smile up until the two left. Suddenly, the apartment felt empty without their presence.

Now—he turned, shedding his coat and tossing it haphazardly at the window seat—where was the actual presence?

 

\---

Daylight descended into evening by the time Shiro and Allura had stopped by, during halftime of the night's football game. Hunk had never really laid out ground rules for guests, but Keith knew the man wouldn't mind. Especially when the pair were very popular on campus as the most engaging professors. And ever since they started dating, they'd practically become a package deal when dropping in on Keith, as if he were a helpless child. Keith was annoyed, but he couldn't blame them.

He was grabbing his third beer, eyes glued to the screen as he glued himself back to the couch. Shiro glanced at him from the corner of his eye, brows drawn, bordering a scolding comment. Keith sat beside him.

"So, no activity?" Shiro asked.

"None," Keith said mechanically, gaze flitting to the tv. "Patterson's choking out there. That's a first."

"What about the noises?" Allura chimed in from behind, the click of her heels apporaching. "You don't think that was nothing, do you?"

"Yeah, well, people hear things," Keith raised his drink.

Shiro made a pointed glare at Keith, one that clearly said he didn't condone the excessive drinking.

Keith deadpanned and deliberately snapped the can's tab up. He slurped intentionally, because for goodness sake, he was twenty years old. Why did Shiro have to hunker down with the rules at the most inopportune of times?

Allura wiped her hands off on the dish rag she'd been using in the kitchen. "I still don't think it was right for them to leave you here all by yourself."

"Uh, I'm a big boy, Allura," Keith laughed at that, though with a little tartness. He was not a liability, much as they treated him like one. "And it's hardly a big deal. Besides, I..I haven't really sensed anything yet."

Her interest still came as a surprise. He remembered how Allura had also once been a skeptic. Her convincing had been done when he did a reading of her late father, Alfor. From what Keith knew, they had been very close in relations, and giving her the final say with Alfor had left her with a sense of peace. Then rolled the story of how Shiro and her had begun seeing each other more often, and how that itself evolved into one of the most unique bonds Keith had ever seen. One of mutual understanding and equal ambition to keep moving forward. They shared bruised hearts, and a love had blossomed from it. She'd been anyone's dream girl; perfect body, beautiful beach waves, and that _accent._  Shiro had been utterly smitten.

Meanwhile, Keith didn't feel remotely attractive sporting beaten polo pajama pants and a v-neck that'd seen better days. His hair was an disheveled mess and, good lord, his life was, too. Of course, he had to give himself some credit, because it took a lot of work to look like a human disaster.

He stole a look their way, spotting the slender hand squeezing Shiro's shoulder. Truly, he was more than happy to see someone stare so adoringly at his stepbrother, but it hurt to know he could never have a bond like theirs. It hurt knowing he shared special connections with no one but the dead. And even then, they never stayed. He'd lost count long ago for how long he'd waited for someone to emerge from the blue, smile at him, let him know that, yes, someone had indeed been waiting for him, too. Keith was not patient for that. Keith was not a wishful thinker.

"Well, you can't leave this place having not done anything," Shiro's voice snapped him of his reverie. "Maybe you should just call back. Say you can't do it."

Shiro would suggest such a thing. Keith stared at his arm, the scars zigzagging his knuckles, the one across his nose. He shuddered at the memory of red. So much red. _All he'd seen was red._

"I know," Keith's brows furrowed, sorrowful. "But just because there's nothing yet...it doesn't mean I should stop. I just can't feel anything." He wondered if that latter sentence applied to something beyond what he meant.

Shiro held a wary gaze over him. "You know, you don't have to feel obligated to do this."

"I do know," Keith said. "I'm doing this for me. Really, I am."

Shiro nodded at him, eyes softening understandingly.

The people in his life were often too forgiving, Keith felt. His mouth opened, all instincts telling him to apologize for the events of last year, promise for the millionth time that things would be different.

"Don't stress yourself, then, Keith," Allura said. "I'm sure it will come to you. Also, ah, dinner's ready. Come on." She turned heel, ushering for them to follow.

Shiro stayed on the sofa a moment longer, and Keith could feel himself shrinking by the second under his stare. "I'm just looking out for you."

Keith huffed a breath and forced a smile. "I know."

"I trust that you know what you're doing," Shiro emphasized.

"I am. I mean, I do. Look, Shiro," Keith shifted slightly, knees bumping the coffee table. "I'm gonna learn how to get things under control... It's not gonna be like last year, I promise. And when I say I can take care of myself, I mean it. I don't want you to get involved."

A change showed in Shiro's face as he gave a slow nod, looking for a loophole in Keith's honest explanation. Had he not been clear enough?

"Right," he nodded again, and Keith's eyebrows shot up. "You're right."

"That's another first," Keith smiled, genuinely this time.

"Yeah," Shiro reached across the coffee table, retrieving empty beer cans. "And Allura's right, remember."

"Yeah, yeah, I know... Patience yields focus."

 

\---

Shiro and Allura said their goodbyes to Keith a little after ten. After so, he'd stolen back into the living room and rooted himself back to the couch cushions. Half an hour later, and a few troubles pushed down the hatch thanks to his good pal Bud Light, Keith made it close to impossible to get any studying done, so he just sat before an open textbook and wondered that in the hell he was supposed to do.

He could not believe he had sat there and, what, lied to Shiro? He had sat with a smile on his face, pretending to be in control, and assured him that all would be well. Would it? He felt nothing but a mixture of envy and resentment roiling in his gut. He felt cursed, and he was half glad he'd been a little too buzzed to mentally punish himself more over the fact that, maybe, he really wouldn't be able to manage the way he interacted with the dead. Maybe Shiro was right. Maybe this had been a mistake.

Keith licked his lips and blinked lazily out of the guilt slowly absorbing him, realizing he'd been dazedly watching a sequence of after dark informercials for ten minutes tops. The night was moving too slow for his own good. He uncrossed his arms from his chest, dragging his ankles off the coffee table and nearly knocking down some empty cans. His situation must have looked incredibly lousy to a stranger's eye. Keith was not a drinker. But he was also not a great handler of stress, so he decisively stood up and walked back to the kitchen. He popped open the fridge, grabbed the razberita Hunk left chanting his name and, yes, mentally noted he'd pay the guy back before making his short trek back to the couch.

This is where, had he been coherent and not sulking at the hardwood floor, he would've noticed the guy standing in the middle of the living room.

Just as Keith lifted his head, a tall, dark brunet from nowhere turned around and went totally bug-eyed, screaming, "AAAAHH!!", like he'd been shot. Keith instinctively screamed back, snapping open his drink and spraying beer foam all about where his hand flailed.

"WHAT," Keith yelled, glancing over his shoulder and back. "What, what?!"

"There's nothing worth stealing here," the boy said, eyes round as saucers as he stood before Keith.

_ Oh. _ Keith thought.  _ Oh. Wait, what? _

"What?" Keith asked again. His eyes carefully assessed his befuddled company; he was roughly the same age as Keith, more or less. And he was donning a blue baseball tee, light-washed jeans and funky gray sneakers. All in all, he was dressed much too lightly to be withstanding San Francisco's brisk weather.

"There's no money, no drugs," the boy went on.

"I'm not stealing anything!" Keith snapped defensively. "I..I wasn't aware Hunk and Pidge had another roommate."

"Okay, who the what?" the boy shook his head. "Look, I'll pay for cab fare, or I'm sure there's a homeless shelter nearby, but please, don't blow it on anymore beer—"

"What?" Keith bristled, struggling to formulate words besides the one he'd been repeating. "I'm not homeless. I'm staying here. I'm..I live here." So, that latter part was a lie, but it was anything to quell the panic in the boy's face.

The boy cocked his head, squinting condescendingly as his voice calmed like that of a social worker. "Okay, well, that's not possible. You can't live here. Because I live here. This is my apartment."

"Since when?"

"Uh, since I rented it?"

Keith squinted, mirroring the guy's mocking tone. "You rented it."

"Yeah," the boy nodded.

"Along with the other two people who paid their deposit?"

"And moved in all their things?" the boy countered, eyebrows drawn close in blatant frustration.

"Yea—you what?"

The boy gestured about the living room. "These are all my things. That's my couch, that's my coffee table.." he marched over to said table. "Is that a ring? Haven't you ever heard of a coaster? Who the heck raised you?"

Keith was still rapidly blinking, lower lip quivering open like a scolded child. He wasn't one to take any sass from a stranger, but this one was really catching him on an off, unluckily, drunken night.

The boy pointed to him, then the mess of fizzy razberita pooling on the floor. "Look, buddy, I don't care who you are, you're gonna mop that up."

"That—" Keith pointed, too. "That's not my fault. You...shouldn't even be here."

The boy before him stood in place, sputtering like he was on fumes before waving his hands. "Okay, you know what, I've had just about enough of this. I'm calling the police."

That certainly wouldn't improve the situation.

"No, wait!" Keith reached out, but the boy ignored his protest anyway, marching to the side table by the couch and reaching for the house phone.

"It's too late," the boy spat, swiping below and...his hand went clear through the phone.

Keith blinked in a lazy succession, like he couldn't believe his own eyes. Because, really, he couldn't. Ghosts were transparent all the time, he knew. This boy, though, he looked about as human as anyone else. He was not see through. In fact, he seemed very much alive and animated.

"What," the boy moved his hand through the house phone again, fingers grasping nothing but air. His face contorted in innocent confusion when he glanced back at Keith. "What'd you do to my phone?" He asked shrilly.

"Nothing," Keith answered, swallowing over the thick, cotton-like feeling on his tongue.

The boy's face went bitter again, and he stomped past Keith, voice strung tight in bewilderment. "You wait right there. I'm gonna go use the one in the kitchen."

And Keith did, very briefly, to recollect his thoughts before turning heel and following after the other. "Wait," he said. "You moved in  _ when_?"

The kitchen was empty.

He took a cursory glance about the kitchen, over the island, and then wandered into the connecting hall. Pwoof. No one. "Hello?"

His call was met with silence, only increasing Keith's assumptions further. He was definitely going crazy.

He trashed his razberita without so much as a sip that night.

When it came to the next morning, however, the second occurrence took place in the bathroom. Keith stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist and his mind in the gutter. The cabinet mirror had fogged from the steam, and naturally, he swept his hand across the glass panel. Over his shoulder, last night's stranger yelled back at him, donning the same blue tee, and the same pissed off expression as the night before. "I told you to get out!"

Which caused Keith's heart to stutter in absolute horror, and when he looked back, nobody.

So, yeah, if he really had been losing his mind here, it was time to talk to someone.

 

\---

"So, what's this all about?" Shiro and Keith seated themselves outside a little corner cafe. Shiro tugged at the thick scarf wound up around the lapels of his wool coat.

Keith had left the house so determined to speak with Shiro about the night before. And as he sat there with him again, just trying to formulate the word of a ghost brought nausea to climb up his insides.

"Um," Keith blew into a steaming cup of coffee. "Nothing, really." He curled his fingers around the outside of the cup for warmth.

"You called me for nothing," Shiro repeated, a brow arched quizzically.

"Yes," Keith said. "I mean, no. No, I called you, because I wanted to tell you I...I'm seeing someone."

"Oh..." Shiro's sharper features shaped into a joyous smile. "Well, finally! Is that why you were so quiet last night? You know, I was actually a little concerned back there,"  _ oh, a little, _ Keith laughed internally. "But this is great!"

"You think so?" Keith shifted in his seat, holding the brim of his steaming beverage to his nose and getting whiff of roasted almond.

"Absolutely, Keith," Shiro went on. "I mean, last time, with what happened when Rolo tried to set you up, that—that wasn't so good, but this...this is good."

_Mm,_ Keith smacked his lips with a tight, sarcastic smile. _Time to drop the bomb._ "Yeah, but it's actually not, really."

"What, why? Do I know them?" Shiro's expression went like that of a concerned parent.

"Because, Shiro, I'm seeing someone who's not there."

"You mean, like, not emotionally available?"

"No," Keith emphasized, and Shiro's eyes widened a fraction.

"Oh," Shiro said, snapping open a coffee creamer and dousing it in his drink. He looked as though he needed it to be whiskey. "You mean like a...ghost?" He scooted his chair closer.

"Yeah, twice in the apartment," Keith said. "A ghost, but...not really. Not transparent."

"Uh-huh," Shiro nodded, pulling out a wrinkled notepad.

"A guy."

"Attractive?"

Keith deadpanned. "Not really there, Shiro."

"Right, right," Shiro nodded, clicking a pen. "So, um, when you saw this guy...were you drunk?"

"I had a little buzz," Keith lied, and Shiro shot a look at him like he was too tired to listen to bull, so. "Okay, I had a few beers. But I did see him. He was there, just.."

"Not really?"

"Exactly," Keith tilted his head. "Are you writing this down? Shiro, this isn't a session."

"I know, I know. I'm just making sure we have vital information written down," Shiro looked at his watch. "But if this rolls into a second hour, we're gonna have to work out some kind of deal—" Keith groaned. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding... I thought you said you didn't feel a presence in the apartment."

It would be a major setback if Keith was actually having some freaky hallucination about a guy who didn't actually exist. Shiro was already afraid for him being an introvert, he didn't need to add drunken lush to his never ending list of existential problems.

"Ugh, I know," Keith dragged his hand down his face, sighing. "I can't see through him, but he's obviously there. It's never been like this before! I just—ugh, what do I do?"

Shiro shifted across from him, lips pinched in pensive thought before he proposed. "Maybe he's just a stronger entity. You know, maybe he needs a lot more help to move on. Maybe something's weighing him down."

Keith crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "So..?"

"So," Shiro assumed that tired look again, waving vaguely. "Try talking to him again."

"It's not like I can find him on every corner, Shiro. He literally just pops up whenever he pleases."

"Try something old school?" Shiro raised his hands before making a grab for his beverage . "Try getting a book. Old-fashioned stuff. Find what brings him out the most."

 _Huh,_ Keith thought.  _Huh._

Not too bad of an idea.

"And when you're done with, you know, all that," Shiro continued. Uh-oh. "I want you to take a good look around you, Keith. It's the world.  Join it . No more alone time, okay, you know how self-deprecating we get when we're alone too much."

"Alright, alright," Keith nodded, eyes hooded and kept to the table.

"No," Shiro said. "No 'alright'. I need you to be with me on this... Keith, come on."

Keith shook shocks hair between his fingers, lifting his gaze up to Shiro. "Alright, I'm with you." He assured in his most manageable honest voice. But the one in his head, oh, he knew he was really working this investigation for himself.

Shiro's eyes lingered on him once more before that solemn look on his face brightened. "Great," he took a sip of his coffee. "Hurry on, then. You've got a ghost to bust."

Something Keith lowkey admired about Shiro was his inability to provide nothing less than a cheesy joke. But he was right. It was time to pay another visit to the boy of mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dunno about you, but i'd love to live in hunk and pidge's sublet, lance included. ;D


	3. looney tooney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith summons Lance with a good cup of joe, Rolo's a smartass, and.. Keith has some revelations. Sometimes the past just has to be left alone, even when it hurts.

Keith had made it his mission that day to do some heavier research on Hunk and Pidge's loft. He'd rifled through drawers in the kitchen and was quickly in and out of there before the nag master was able to make another swift appearance in the apartment. As Keith lumbered down the stairwell of the Victorian complex, he'd exchanged brief conversation about the previous tenant over the phone with Pidge.

"So, the people who sublet the apartment to you, uh, do you happen to have their number?"

"I don't, actually," Pidge sighed on the receiving end. "My dad dealt with all that." And then, blatant excitement laced her voice. "Why, did something happen?"

"Oh, ah," he lied through his teeth. "No, no, I was just curious, you know. I just wanted to gather a little more information on the previous tenant."

"Weeell," Pidge went on, amusement still evident in her voice. "If something  _ did _ happen, then I guess I'd have to tell you that the woman my dad talked to, she didn't really want to talk about it."

"What, why?" Keith asked, failing to sound less intrigued as he went to a standstill by the complex's entrance.

Silence was met on the receiving end, prompting Keith to check if the call was still running. "Some kind of tragedy in the family," Pidge said evenly. "My dad didn't exactly press for details."

"What, so this guy could've died?"

"Aha!" Pidge said. "So it  is a guy!"

Keith rolled his eyes. "Goodbye, Pidge."

"Later, loser."

And that had been that.

Keith paid a visit back to the grand bookstore in which he worked, finding himself standing between the sections deemed as the occult and paranormal. Keith traced his fingers along the spines of several books, brows pinched in frustration at the ridiculousness of some covers.

"Need some help?" a familiar voice asked behind him, and Keith glared back at his friend Rolo, who'd been watching with crossed arms.

Buzz off, Keith thought, probably weren't the right words when help was genuinely needed. He was still holding a grudge against Rolo for paying his two cents in a conversation that shouldn't have happened in the first place.

Keith gestured to the shelves. "I've never had to actually look into one of  these books."

"Well, I have,"" Rolo said. His eyes trained from the array of books to Keith. "What kind of encounter have you had?"

"Encounter?"

"Let's not skip around the questions, man. You took up Hunk and Pidge's plea. Right?" Keith wanted to smack the smug look right off Rolo's face, but his friend nodded anyway, and then pulled a book that'd been jammed in a corner shelf. "If you're trying to communicate, there's this killer seance book."

"Trust me, communicating's not his problem."

"Hm," Rolo returned the book to its rightful place, nodding thoughtfully before beaming. "Okay, I got it. Take these. Totally seminal." He piled thick pads of books into Keith's hands.

"Is all this...necessary?" Keith asked.

"You bet," Rolo gave the stack of books in Keith's arms a little pat. "Best of luck with your spirit guy."

 

\---

Keith had sat himself at the window seat in the living room back at the apartment. He'd cracked open a summoning book from the stack Rolo had handed off to him—where they were piled not-so-neatly on the windowseat's coffee table—and even followed the directions of lighting several candles. Whatever that was supposed to do. He waved a candle about, flatly reading the instructions. "Spirit, awake. Spirit, partake.. Spirit, without fear. Spirit...appear."

The prolonged silence that followed invoked Keith to wave the pillar candle in hand again. "Spirit guy? ..It's me, Keith, I... Come on, I..I think you're here." His eyes skirted across the quiet flat, returning to the side of his lap, where a mug painted with a name he couldn't recognize sat over one of the seance books. Lightbulb!

He smacked his lips decisively, setting down the candle in exchange for the beverage. "Okay," Keith lifted the mug up for the view of no one in the room, projecting his voice. "I've got a hot, moist cup of coffee in my hand. There is  no coaster on this table. I'm going to set it down now on this lovely mahogany.."

"Don't you dare!" Spirit guy hissed, standing suddenly before the round table.

"AAH! Ah," Keith set the mug aside, looking up at the spirit with a broad gaze. "We, we need to talk."

"About what?" the spirit folded his arms, brow quirked in recognizable annoyance.

This was probably the worst part about talking to the dead. They didn't know they  _ were_.

Keith found all his strength to put this topic lightly, squinting up at the young male standing before him and rubbing his hands down to his knees. "Um, has it crossed your mind that there might be something a little off with the way you've been spending your days?"

"No," the spirit narrowed his eyes, but then used that belittling tone again. "But, yeah, uh, I guess I could say that's it's just a tad odd that there's a total looney toon lounging around my apartment."

This guy sure liked to press Keith's buttons.  _ Patience, Keith, _ he warned himself.

"I am not—Okay, let's start over."Keith sighed, standing from his spot and mustering a fake introductory smile. "Hi, I'm Keith Kogane. And you are..?"

The spirit took one step back as Keith did forward, confusion overcoming once accusatory features. Keith took notice of this and wondered if the guy might be scared of him after all.

"I am, uh," the spirit's eyes flickered to the mug from earlier. In rainbow lettering, the name LANCE was painted over it. "I'm Lance," he said once, and then again, more sure this time. "My name's Lance."

Keith furrowed his eyebrows, glancing at the mug behind him, and then back at this so-called Lance. "You didn't know that. You had to read that."

"Uh, nuh-uh," Lance shook his head vigorously, and then sputtered. "I, I think I know my own name."

"Mhm, sure," Keith took one step forward, rubbing his hands together with a little confidence now. Lance stepped back again. "Then I guess you won't mind answering when was the last time you talked to someone, other than me?"

Lance's face flickered between suspicion and confusion. "The, the other day.. The other day?"

"And when you're not here," Keith pressed, backing Lance towards the dining table. "What do you do with the rest of your day?"

"Uh," Lance gave mock laugh. "Definitely a lot more than you do, that's for sure."

"Yeah, let's not stray from the point here, pal." Keith's voice bled condescendence.

"Quit talking like that! And don't call me pal! I am not your pal," Lance scowled. "My name is Lance!"

"You think," Keith patronized, continuing. "Then let me ask,  Lance, has anything interesting happened to you lately?"

"Like what?" Lance bristled.

"Oh, I don't know, like," Keith leaned forward. "Dying?"

"Are you insane?!" Lance looked like he was on the verge of lunging.

Another typical reaction, as expected. That wouldn't sail well.

"Okay, okay, just," Keith's mind went to the gutter as he went to touch the spirit's shoulder. "Calm down."

Keith's fingers went clear through his arm, and they both recoiled. "Get your hands off me, Mullet!"

"I'm sorry!" Keith's hands flew up in defense, eyes vague of sincere apology. "I didn't mean to offend you, I'm just trying to help you face the fact—"

"I am not dead!" Lance protested, eyes gone sharp and glinting like switchblades.

"Look around you!" Keith waved, voice escalating to a panicked rasp. "There should be a bright light nearby!"

"There's no light!" Lance squinted up, ambling back.

"Walk into the light, Lance!" Keith preached again, pushing his hands heavenward. Lance let out a frustrated groan.

"There is no light!" Lance repeated, borderline hysterical, huffing a humorless laugh. "And I am not dead! I think I would know if I was dead."

Keith lowered his hands, eyes leveling on the dining table. Lance's body stood in the center of it, his waist swallowed by the tabletop as if it were made of jello.

Lance looked down, hiccuped a gasp, and then fixed wild blues on Keith, his formerly pissed off gaze round with shock. "Oh, my god," his voice came close to a whisper. "What's happening to me?"

"YOU'RE DEAD!" Keith yelled again, prompting another annoyed groan from the spirit.

"Stop saying that!" Lance went to shove at his chest. His hand went clean through, unaffecting.

"Missed," Keith deadpanned, and Lance wiggled his hand through his chest as he stood squarely in front of him, face defiant, determined. Keith backed off in big steps towards the window, and the spirit chased after like an angry child in a losing game of tag.

"Okay, okay, knock it off," Keith said at last. "Look, it's not my fault you're the way you are. I just want you out of the house."

"You get out!" Lance yelled, lunging for Keith and falling right through him  and the sublet's wall. His girlish scream echoed behind him as he sank several stories, flailing.

Keith turned, glowering out the window and over city traffic for any signs of the angry spirit's body. "Rest in peace," he said after a tart silence, turning around and— "AH!"

"I'm not leaving," Lance stood before him, arms crossed.

How the? What the?

Keith grumbled in response, scowling back at the spirit.

_ Fine, _ he thought.  _ Two can play at this game. _

 

\---

The next morning, Keith had to wear his boxers in the shower. Lo and behold, when he pulled back the shower curtain, Lance had been perched on the toilet, one leg crossed over the other, idly swinging an ankle as Keith toweled off.

"Don't forget those back teeth," he'd said nonchalantly over Keith's shoulder while he brushed that morning.

Ignoring him had felt like the only solution to thinking of ways to get rid of Lance. The problem was, he could not for the life of him think of ways to get the guy to scram when he would never stop pestering at the most random of times.

Lance had been sitting in the fridge when Keith opened it before brunch. Keith scoffed, feigning obliviousness and swiping the carton of orange juice out.

"Mm, gotta get that vitamin C, huh, Keith? Good for you." Lance had said.

_ Oh, shove it, _ Keith had withheld.

Lance was everywhere that day. He was a parasite, a bug, a total nuisance. No wonder Hunk and Pidge couldn't stay any longer. Keith wondered if Lance was nearly as annoying invisible and mute.

Lance was certainly visible, though.

That night, he laid across the coffee table before the tv, posed like one of Jack's french girls and blocking the game between the Lions and God knows what now due to Lance's very, very loud rendition of Annie's  _ Tomorrow. _

Keith blinked straight ahead very slowly. No way in hell did Lance's good looks compensate for how unbelievably infuriating he was. He picked up the tv remote, thumb pressing the volume + button to the max.

Lance noticed this, only competing with the game's volume. "Tooomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow, you're only a daaAAY AAAWAAAAY!" He gave great jazz hands for effect, and Keith facepalmed, sighing in the loudest defeat and turning off the tv.

Instead, Keith pulled out one of his textbooks, cracking it open and attempting to train tempered focus on the pages. Lance was quiet. But only for a moment.

"The sun'll come out," he continued, and Keith grit his teeth. "Tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrooow."

"Alright, fine!" Keith grit his teeth, shoved the book aside and made direct eye contact with Lance, his voice hoarse. "You know what. That's it. I've had it with you. I've tried to be nice about this, but now, you've given me no choice. Starting tomorrow, you're out of here!" He stood up from the sofa, and Lance watched him leave.

 

\---

"THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU," the elder priest sermoned, flicking blessed salt over the living room floor. "THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU," Flick. "THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU."

On the first occasion, desperate times had called for desperate measures.

"Are you serious?" Lance exchanged an incredulous glance between the oblivious priest and Keith, who stood cross-armed and scowling against the sofa. "He can't even see me."

"THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU," chanted the priest, flicking salt everywhere but near Lance.

"It's not that compelling," Lance remarked.

"A little to your left," Keith told the priest, motioning with his hand. "More, more."

The priest flicked faster, and it scattered onto the hardwood floor in messy sprinkles.

Lance rolled his eyes at Keith, pointing to the mess. "You're cleaning that up." He walked back to the kitchen.

On the second occasion, Keith paid several elderly Chinese ladies claiming to excel in releasing souls to the great beyond. This money would definitely be coming out of whatever Hunk and Pidge were paying him.

They had been burning joss paper and tossing it all throughout the flat while Keith and Lance idly sat by on the sofa.

"They're gonna set off the smoke alarm," Lance said tiredly.

Sure enough, a loud beeping blared off overhead and made the elderly women squawk in fright and frantically exit the loft.

His third option had been dipping into his wallet for a couple of Ghostbusters goons. The man on that occasion claimed to have trapped Lance in a tiny tube strapped to his cliche as hell backpack.

"All done, sir. We've contained the spirit," the ghostbuster held up the ruler-length tube that supposedly contained Lance.

Lance had stood beside Keith, a snarky, broad sneer on his face. "Ooh, a Pringles container. Impressive."

Keith squinted at the spirit on his side, then back at the conman before him. "Are..you sure?"

"Oh, yes, sir. I have him right here," the ghostbuster said convincingly and walked right past Keith  and Lance. "I'm gonna go give him a flush."

 

\---

Keith had been on the verge of defeat when he'd finally succumbed to the voice in the back of his head and dialed up his friend Rolo. Truth be told, he'd never seen his coworker use his gift in action. He wasn't even sure if he had one. For all Keith knew, Rolo could've just been a guy who'd hit enough doobies to believe he had had one in the first place. But if he had to get rid of Lance this badly, getting a friend involved had to be his last resort.

"So," Keith scrunched a brow down at Rolo, who'd been sprawled on the couch. "You just...lay there?"

"What, did you want a big show for it?" Rolo scoffed a laugh, shaking ivory locks loose from his aviator's hat and fluffing the goose-feather pillow behind his neck.

"He can't see me either," Lance complained at Keith from the corner club chair, a cheek leaned against his fist. "Why'd it have to be you with the powers?"

_ Powers, _ Keith scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Rolo spoke up again, eyes lidded. "Wait," he said. "I'm definitely getting a presence here now... It's hostile."

"Well, that's original," Lance said. "Please, tell us more."

"Yeah, it's definitely mad," Rolo said, unbeknownst to Lance's mocking commentary. He looked up at Keith. "It wants you out of here, dude."

Lance's mouth quirked. "Actually, he might be on to something."

Rolo nodded after a beat. "Wants Hunk and Pidge out, too. You guys should really leave this place alone."

"Aha!" Lance barked a laugh, giving a big clap. "Now we're talkin'!"

"Excuse me?" Keith cocked his head. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "We should leave?"

Rolo tented his hands in his lap, shrugging. "It's what the spirit wants."

"But we're not the dead ones!" Keith said.

"Stop saying I'm dead," Lance hissed from the corner, and Keith shot him a look.

"Can't you feel that, though?" Rolo asked, gesturing his hands out. "This bunch of negative energy, just searing right towards your body."

"Exactly!" Lance quipped.

"Rolo," Keith bristled. "We're not—They're not moving."

"Why not?" Rolo asked. "I would. It's not like it's that great of an apartment, anyway."

Oddly enough, the latter comment struck Keith as an insult. He felt himself grow even more defensive then, voice prickling with agitation. "What are you talking about?"

"It's got a view," Lance said, equally offended, though Rolo couldn't hear.

"And a fireplace," Keith added, exchanging a brief, surprised glance with him for having something they could agree upon.

"Whatever," Rolo shook his head. Unbelievable. "Uh, you got anything to drink? I'm dying of thirst over here, man."

Keith scoffed in response, giving a little "yeah", and leading Rolo back to the kitchen. After he'd had had his drink, Keith wrung gloved hands in an anticipatory silence before nearly bursting.

"So, what? That's all you can say? Hunk and Pidge should just leave? Rolo," Keith sighed, shaking a hand through the tail ends of his hair. "I can't just leave this place with him in it. Can you just tell him to leave this place alone?"

"Can you just tell him to leave this place alone?" Lance mimicked in an nasally voice, hand puppet included.

Keith clicked his tongue and raised a hand to Lance, who was standing uncomfortably close again. "I'm ignoring you."

"No, I'm ignoring you!" said Lance.

"I can't," Rolo said, setting his beer down. "That's all his decision."

"Can't you just tell him to walk into some light?" Keith asked, and Lance groaned out loud again, stomping down the side of the kitchen island.

"Ugh, what don't you understand? There is no light!" Lance flailed his hands out, balling them into fists. "God, you're the most infuriating guy in the world!"

"Oh, I am?" Keith bickered back, because, ha, that was rich. "You've been pestering me nonstop for the past three days. Why can't you just accept that you're dead?"

"Wait, what's going on?" Rolo glanced between Keith and nothing, face pinched in tired confusion.

"Do you think I wanna be like this? That it's easy?" Lance asked, and this time, the break in his voice tore right through Keith. "I know there's something wrong with me, and I know things are different, and I know it's not right. I'm walking through walls here, for pete's sake!"

Rolo was rubbing his temples, sighing in exasperation. "Okay, you really need to fix this. This has got to be be one of the most alive spirits I've ever met."

Rolo wasn't exactly giving a good solution. What felt like rocks sank to the pit of Keith's stomach. "And how do you suppose I do that, huh? I can't tell Hunk and Pidge to leave, I can't get him out, so what's the whole point of being here? What do you mean?"

"I agree with him, dude," Rolo gestured to the corner of the kitchen. "He's not dead."

Keith bit his lip. He couldn't believe this. Rolo was siding with the dead guy. Scratch that, not dead guy, supposedly. Rolo believed Lance was alive—brilliantly so. He chanced a glance in Lance's direction, and a cocky _told you so_ smirk was planted on Lance's face.

"You're kidding," Keith said back to Rolo, and his friend shook his head.

"I'm really, really not," Rolo said. He raised a hand then, and drew a little circle in air before Keith. "But you, uh, I think you might wanna try fixing yourself first."

"What?"

"You've got the darkest aura I've ever seen, man," Rolo emphasized. "I mean, I knew it was bad, but now. It's just ten times the way it was since the other day. Seriously, dude. You gotta let your spirit go."

"How can I when he won't leave..?" Keith's shoulders sank.

"Not that spirit. The other one. I'm talking about the one you're keeping in there," Rolo pointed an index finger at his friend's chest, at his heart.

Keith felt his breathing go tight instantly, as if he'd been punched. Rolo quite literally dug up the grave of old memories Keith hadn't dared try to touch in forever. There was a major problem with the way Keith dealt with his pain. It swallowed in on itself, it died like a star. It was an explosion inside of him, and he felt himself close to going nova.

"You have to let 'em go, dude," Rolo said, eyes sorrowful.

Nausea climbed up the walls of Keith's stomach. "We're—We're not here to talk about that. I don't wanna talk about...ugh."

From the corner of his eye, he watched Lance approach him from around the kitchen island with a growing smile.

"Oh, that's it," Lance was smirking, like he'd had it all figured out.

Keith's jaw clenched. "What?" He bit out, sparing him a glare.

"You were dumped," Lance said. "Probably for some guy who's not trying to revive a haircut from the 1980's."

"Shut up," Keith bit out again, turning his head and tiredly facing Lance.

"Oh, what, you can dish it all out on me, but you can't take it?" Lance went on, but his innocent grin felt nothing but venomous to Keith. "You get to bring in the exorcist and the whole Ghostbusters' team, but I talk about you getting dumped once, and what, you can't take it?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Anger roiled hot in Keith's gut. "I said, you don't know what the hell you're talking about, Lance, so give it a break and shut up!"

Rolo, on the other hand, exchanged glances between Keith and presumably where Lance was standing. Keith turned and left the kitchen, hot tears pricking his vision. "I'm sorry for your loss, Keith—" Rolo called from behind.

Lance hadn't reacted in the slightest to his little outburst, standing with a self-satisfied smile.

Rolo shook his head disappointedly after Keith's exit. He lifted his gaze and made a pointed glance about the kitchen. "And, uh, word to the wise guy? Show some respect for the  _actual_ dead." He snugged his aviator's cap back on and rounded out the kitchen.

That swept the smile of Lance's face. If he could feel his heart now, he was sure it would be sinking through his chest. He flinched when he heard the apartment door shut after Rolo.

 

\---

Alone again, Keith was standing on the rooftop of the Victorian loft, under a sky stripped of blue giants. The night was a muddy violet, practically amethyst where it met the urban horizon of San Francisco. The atmosphere around him looked like a bruise, and Keith felt that deep inside. December always opened a hole in the sky.

He was so good at suppressing memories, so good at forgetting they existed, it almost felt like they'd never happened in the first place. And then, a forgotten catastrophe would be prompted back to mind, and that memory would resurface with a vengeance.

Keith remembered his foster mother. How quickly she'd passed, how slow he grieved. Granted, he'd always been introverted growing up, but she'd always been a woman worthy of conversation. After she had gone, it was him and Shiro against the rest of the world.

Shiro, his stepbrother, Shiro, his guiding leader, because his dad had been too busy with work from then on. He'd hardly had time for his kids. It had been so sudden. From twelve and onward, he had had one parent, and it hadn't been his father anymore.

Then came the year prior, and his dad had begun apologizing for his ridiculous absence, saying he would make up for it. He just had to hear from his wife again. Keith agreed. And Shiro wanted some closure, too.

They started the summoning. But things had gone wrong. And suddenly, Shiro was screaming, clutching an arm, gnarled and bloody.

"Keith?" an all too familiar voice asked from behind. "I'm sorry."

Keith refused to turn around, shaking his head just barely. That was rare, too. Ghosts did not show sympathy towards the living. He pulled the lapels of his coat close to his face.

"I guess I really don't know you all that well, huh?" Lance continued. When Keith didn't answer, he went on, keeping his voice gentle. "I got this place for the roof. I was gonna do a little garden out here, bring a telescope.. I thought I could try to look at the stars, since this place's really close to the Bay. I was so busy with..something, I never got to finish it. Maybe I never was."

Keith glanced over his shoulder. Lance was strange. If Keith had been taking note of anything, it was that Lance rambled incessantly, and even when faced with the idea of being dead, he had not a chip on his shoulder. He was no one type of person.

After death, ghosts typically carried the same cookie-cutter personalities—whiny, impatient, skittish—they were ready for the next life. Lance was anything but. He was an oddball. Scratch that, a goofball, and that made Keith wonder if he really wasn't dead.

"I.. I'm really sorry," Lance said. When the silence answered, he shifted his weight to one hip. "You know, some people find it helps when you talk about these things."

"Lance," Keith warned.

"Right, right. Guess anger's your method, huh?" Lance joked, albeit wryly. He was quiet again. But only for a moment. "Who was he talking about?"

The thought of her invoked a shuddering breath from Keith. He ground the toe of his boot into chalky gravel. "My mom," he said. "My foster mom."

"Keith, if I'd have known," Lance started, and Keith turned before he could allow him to finish.

He was not going to have this conversation again. Not for the billionth time. And certainly not with the dead.

"For the love of God, just drop it, would you?" Keith stopped just before passing Lance. He gestured about himself by cocking his elbows up, hands snug in coat pockets. "You don't know me, and you don't need to. Just leave it alone."

Lance sidestepped like he was ready to protest. Only he just opened his mouth and closed it, akin to a goldfish.

The situation just didn't seem worth the pain of reliving the past anymore. "Leave me alone," Keith said at last, intentionally walking through the spirit and back into the apartment.

\---

He went for a walk. Keith knew he'd just be trapped with Lance if he didn't leave to shake his mind clear from the constant jabbering. If he hadn't made it obvious enough with that dick-like behavior on the rooftop, he was definitely going to go back and decline Hunk and Pidge's money. It would be shameful, but at this point, he was past caring.

The air outside was biting, and his cold breath was trailing misty white tails, but the peace and quiet was worth it, save for the late-nighters lounging outside open bars and restaurants. Maybe it was okay to go back to quietly feeling bad.

He kept on the sidewalk, eyes down, mouth puffing unobtainable warmth onto his fingers.

And then, something miraculous happened.

"I know you're just trying to ignore me again!" Lance stood in Keith's path, lips set in a taut, childish frown. He nearly sent Keith stumbling.

Keith deflated at the sight of him, mouth twisting in a sullen pout.

_ Unbelievable,  _ he thought, making a point to walk around Lance, because that just couldn't count as ignoring.

He turned around at a corner sports bar, and Lance jumped through the doors to make yet another dramatic appearance. Or, at least, scare Keith again.

Keith merely flinched. "I know what you're doing, Lance, and it's not gonna work."

A drunken man on the curb shot a funny look at Keith, so he took out his phone instead and held it up to his ear. Lance followed in tow.

"Stop ignoring me, then," Lance demanded. He sounded pissed, and in a way, Keith found it amusing.

"Yeah? Why should I?" Keith asked, a definite challenge. "Because you're gonna help me? Doesn't work that way, Lance. Never has."

"No, because you're supposed to be helping me!"

"Says who?"

"Hunk and Pidge!" Lance yelled, and Keith skidded to a halt.

Keith lowered his phone. "What'd you say?"

Lance looked like he was having a mini crisis. His eyes darted to the corner bar's neon sign, to the dirty pavement. "I-I, I don't remember much, but...I remembered they had a conversation in the apartment," his brows met in a tight knit when he looked at Keith again. "They were scared of me. They couldn't hear me. I kept trying to get their attention, but all it did was push them away more. I started to remember that when we were on the rooftop."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Keith asked.

"Uh, I was trying to comfort you?" Lance said pointedly, and Keith rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, great job."

"Hey, that one's all on you and your brooooding attitude, buddy."

Keith scoffed. "I am not brooding."

"Uh-huh, yeah," Lance snorted. "And I'm not Beyoncé."

"You're not," Keith leaned on his toes, tempted to smile. He didn't. Instead, he told himself to remember what he'd been walking away from to begin with, and kept on. "And that sounds awful, but I really can't help you. So go."

"Wait," Lance stood in place behind him. "What?"

"You're on your own," Keith called back, ignoring the glances nightgoers on the sidewalk shot his way.

"Keith!" Lance shouted. "You said you wanted to help me!"

Keith shook his head, willed himself to ignore Lance's protest.

"Last chance, Keith," there was a scary calm in Lance's voice.

A moment ticked by before Keith glanced over his shoulder. Down the sidewalk, Lance was no longer behind him. Just a bunch of drunken strangers.

He heaved a relieved sigh, and when he faced forward again, a wild-eyed Lance came charging at him full speed and screaming, slamming into him with the force of an aggressive running back. A short sharp yelp ripped from Keith's throat as he felt the wind knock clear out of his chest before he hit the pavement.

The entirety of his chest ached and burned, like he'd swallowed a matchstick. When he lifted his head, the lot of lushes and late-nighters around were laughing at him, the man who tripped on nothing. There weren't even ice caps around for excuses.

Amongst the lot of the laughing crowd, Lance's trademark grin stuck out the most. He had a shoulder leaned on a streetpost, one leg idly crossed over the other while he wiggled his fingers in an innocent wave from a distance.

Keith sighed and let his head rest against the concrete again, eyes screwing shut. Good God.

 

\---

Keith found a street bench in the local park about half an hour later. In his thirty minutes of free time from Lance, all he had time to think about was how much his back hurt and how much he wanted to kill Lance, if he hadn't been already dead. Or not dead.

He sat down with a sigh of triumph, looked to the left: clear, looked to the right: Lance!

"Eegh!" he hissed, as if he was being fed something awful. "Why are you still here?"

"That's a good question," Lance said evenly, looking at his knees. That mocking look from earlier seemed nonexistent to the way he was now. "I have no idea."

Keith said nothing.

"Why are you the only one who can see me?" Lance asked.

"It's a curse," Keith answered honestly, because it really did feel like one.

"It's just.. All I know is when I'm not with you, it's like I don't exist," Lance's mouth went sad, as did his natural spright, too, when he finally spoke the facts. "Oh, my god," he whispered. "Maybe I am dead."

Being saddled with someone for three days could really get a guy to know another. Keith eyes went to the spirit again, who was crumpling into himself like a wilting flower. Sympathy coursed itself a knot in Keith's gut. He found himself missing that smile he somehow loathed earlier.

"Oh, come on," Keith said, donning a small smile for the other. "I'm sorry that I said you were dead. Maybe you're not dead, maybe you're just really...uh, light."

Lance's focus went to talking with his hands. He did that a lot. "I mean, if I could just remember who I am, or what I did, then at least I'd know... I mean, once and for all. If I was. I'm trying to figure it out, I just," he twiddled his fingers and, the icing on the cake, pulled a wounded puppy face at Keith. "I can't do it by myself."

Keith looked at Lance. He really, really looked at Lance. He was a genuinely good-looking boy, with a slim face and an elvishly cute nose that was peppered in soft brown freckles. And he may or may not be dead.  But if Keith knew anything, it was that the good-looking, boisterous boy was always missed. Something told him, with the way Lance was staring and batting his lashes, that he knew it, too.

Keith shook his head back, scoffing a small laugh. "You're not really asking me again."

Lance scooted closer, and Keith clicked his tongue, exasperated and expectant.

"Look," Lance said. "You're a medium, right? So, that means that you've got two realities to choose from. One is that a guy has come into your life in a completely unique, unconventional way, and he just happens to need your help."

"Uh-huh," Keith perked a brow.

"The second is that you've gone completely nuts, and you're sitting on a park bench alone, talking to yourself."

That gave the Keith a little insight to reality. He made a mental note to be more conspicuous about his second sight, if that were possible.

"I think I prefer the first one."

"Okay, good," Lance leapt to his feet, megawatt grin anew. Keith's eyes followed him, dubious. "Then let's find out who I am."

Keith lacked the sureness of this compromise, but he, admittedly, liked what reflected in the other's eyes. Lance had an insatiable adoration for life and finding out who he was. Keith was quite the opposite. But knew he was no one to stand between Lance and the life he must know.

Keith pulled his coat tighter and, neither one prepared, they returned to the loft together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! this chapter was definitely longer than the previous ones. i know progression of the story is slow, but i'm sure you'll enjoy things nonetheless. i sure hope you're ready for more! and yes, yes, i promise we'll get into keith's mysterious past sometime soon. oh, guys, this is just a hint of klangst. for now, let's just focus on lance, and how he may or may not be dead. ;D see ya next time!


	4. thank you, lori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith takes a nosedive into Lance's past, and we get to meet Coran, m'man! Meanwhile, Lance makes a terrible discovery of his his fate, and Keith finally decides to open up about his mysterious past.. Let's have a heart to heart.

Going door to door seemed like a fine plan that morning, but any leads from neighbors in the complex left the case as a total bust. The night before, Lance and Keith stayed up rehearsing what he was to say and ask the neighboring tenants. Turned out, most of them hardly knew who Lance was.

_ Ding-dong. _

"No," the woman on the first floor scrunched her button nose. "I think that apartment was vacant."

_ Ding-dong. _

One guy laughed. "There was a dude up there? Ahah."

_ Ding-dong. _

"Nobody lived there," a grouchy old man said.

Their endeavors had been fruitless.

Lance trudged in suit of Keith, shaking his head at the ground and sighing disappointedly. "It's like I was a ghost before I was dead."

Lance had every reason to feel like so. The day had just begun, and all odds were pointing to the possible worst.

Keith gave the him an apologetic sideways glance as they meandered down the hall of the second floor, approaching the last door. He pressed the doorbell.

_ Ding-dong. _

Moments later, the door swept open, and a very bright, inviting young blonde answered. "Hi, can I help you?"

"Whoooo," Lance whistled beside Keith, eyes doing a quick once-over of the pretty tenant. "Finally, someone normal. I'll bet we were friends."

Keith resisted the urge to snort, instead maintaining a practiced smile and introducing himself to the blonde. "Hi, I'm..Keith. I'm, ah, a new tenant here."

"Hi, Keith. I'm Nicole," the blonde swept up his hand, shaking it firmly before gesturing inside her own loft. "Come on in."

"She's nice!" Lance quipped, stars in his eyes. "I like her!"

_ Of course, _ Keith thought begrudgingly, instead raising a hand. "Oh, no, this'll just take a sec."

Nicole batted dark lashes in turn, leaning her body against the frame of the entryway.

"The apartment upstairs," Keith pointed up and went on. "It used to belong to a young guy, around my age, right?"

Nicole's eyes flickered skyward, finger twirling the braid over her shoulder in pensive thought. "Yeah, I think there was somebody up there," and she sighed. "But he was, like, a total busybody. Sort of tuned out from the rest of the world, you know?"

"Okaaay, maybe we weren't close friends," Lance corrected.

Keith saw a twinge of embarrassment pinch Lance's features from the corner of his eye, and he felt it served him right for ogling at Nicole like some lovesick puppy.

"I kind of talked to him, actually, when he first moved in. Before those other two," Nicole continued.

"Did you?" Keith asked, attention skirting back to her.

"Yeah," a palm veiled her lips as she played coy. "He was a total flirt, but...really bad."

"Okay, I think we're done here," Lance said, blatantly upset.

Keith laughed intentionally at Nicole's description of Lance, a light smirk playing on his face. "Yeah?"

"Kind of, like, back of a bubblegum wrapper stuff. Cute. For a ten year old," Nicole giggled with the practiced flare of a model.

Keith faked a little  _ aha _ laugh, and it made Lance groan with annoyance.

"Whatever," Lance said, eyes rolling as he walked away. "Let's go."

"Look, this is gonna sound so cliché," Nicole cocked one hip and pointed a thumb back into her loft. "But I've got a window I can't open."

"You have got to be kidding me," Lance swerved back to Keith's side, scrutinizing the blonde with wide, dubious eyes.

A little slow on the uptake, Keith perked an eyebrow, serving a quick glance from Lance to Nicole. "What?"

"She's inviting you in," Lance had a little bite to his voice as he gestured to her, still teeming from the playful and flirtatious insults. A little guilt weighed in Keith's chest for playing along with it.

"Well," Keith started, a little sweat beading under his bangs. "If it's jammed, could you, uh, probably use a screwdriver to make it loose or something?"

Lance shot Keith a look as if he were the world's biggest idiot.

"Oh," Nicole had a sugar sweet lilt to her voice, lifting her hands defeatedly. "Tried it. Won't budge."

Lance wrinkled his nose at her, exchanging another incredulous look between them. Nicole was so lucky she couldn't see how he was staring daggers into her now. Once delighted with her at first sight, Lance looked as though he was equally appalled with the way she was already throwing herself at the Keith; zero preliminaries. He bit his underlip.

Lance's discomfort did not go unnoticed by Keith. He pocketed his hands in his front pockets, squinting apologetically at Nicole. "I, I'd like to help, but I've actually..got dinner plans."

"Hm," Nicole leaned forward, eyes reflecting something completely predacious. "Well, I've got dessert."

"I just threw up in my mouth," Lance flared his nostrils.

She was definitely barking up the wrong tree, is what Keith thought. And the longer he was standing before Nicole's door, the more pinned down he felt. Keith was anything but the nervous guy, and he was not about to be something on her agenda.

"Ohhh," Keith went, very stupidly. "I..I, ummm... It was nice meeting you." He lifted a hand, waving curtly and turning heel the instant she nodded in agreement.

"You, too, Keith," Nicole called after him.

Lance lingered just to see her visibly checking the medium out as he walked away. He scoffed, slouching and trailing grumpily after Keith. "Why is she wearing workout clothes?"

As expected, Keith dealt with the spirit's incessant yammering all the way up the stairwell. If anything, Nicole was the one leaving a mark on Lance's mind, because he complained about her all the way up to the front door of his apartment.

"I mean, if she was gonna work out in the middle of the day, why wear a push-up bra? I thought girls were supposed to wear sports bras that strapped them down, you know?" Lance jabbered. "And forget her! I know for a fact my pick-up lines are good. She—"

"Okay, enough," Keith turned around, visibly exhausted. "You know what, you're not coming with me anymore."

"What, why?" Lance's face went wide and innocent. "Something might jog my memory."

"Because you're like a giant AM radio that's been shoved into my head," Keith made a grand gesture, scowling. "Just going on and on, and I can't turn you off."

Another problem that had gone away with Keith ignoring the dead was that they never approached them. Granted, ghosts had a bad case of jabber-jaw, but no one could ramble as ceaselessly as Lance. It was like he had to be vocal on everything, especially Nicole now, since she'd gone and insulted his game. If he had any.

Keith turned to the apartment door, patting his pant's pockets. He a muttered a curse under his breath.

"What?" Lance asked.

"I left the keys in the apartment," Keith said tersely.

"Oh," Lance gestured to a white box mounted off to the side, nonchalant. "Spare key's under the fire extinguisher."

Keith's brows raised to that. He meandered to the aforementioned box, opening the latch, lifting the bulbous extinguisher and grabbing the mentioned key to the apartment.

So, maybe Lance was right. His being there probably was returning some useful memories.

After entry of the apartment, Keith went straight to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water on the island.

"Five other tenants in this building, and not one of them can remember what you look like," Keith unscrewed the cap to his drink, scoffing. "Talk about being disconnected from the rest of the world."

"Yeah, well, look who's talking!" Lance returned the scoff, sharp brows scrunched and unamused. "Besides, I-I just don't get it. I know myself, Keith. I mean, sorta. I'm a fun-loving guy! If anything, I'm a social butterfly, so... so I can't accept that!"

"Figured," Keith said, taking a long swig of water, and then pulling open a drawer by his side. He swallowed. "There's gotta be more than this."

He pushed aside some post-its in the drawer. To his luck, Hunk and Pidge hadn't exactly gotten themselves too acquainted with whatever was left here before they moved in. Some notes in particular pulled his attention, so he grabbed a handful, lips pulling in a pleased little smile. "Check it out. Looks like we've got new leads, after all."

"Really?" Lance's deflated look sprang back to life. No pun intended. He rubbed his palms together, stepping up to Keith and eyeing the contents of his hands. "Alright, so we've got an address book, some post-its, and a book of matches.. You know what that means?"

Keith blinked twice in succession. "We could start a very small fire..?"

"There's still hope."

 

\---

On the road, Keith's red mustang coasted up the streets of San Francisco. As he drove, Lance sat by in the passenger side, chatting up a storm again, eyes fixated out his window.

"I don't understand how I can just remember the little things, y'know? And not the vital parts about my life. I know my birthday, I know I'm twenty, and I know.." Lance's voice hurt again. "I know, I missed my family."

Keith drummed his fingers on the wheel. Keith had been down that metaphorical road many, many times. He, too, had a history. It felt like a bad idea to try and provide Lance with comforting words, or even help him retrieve his memories at all, but he'd done it anyway. There was something Lance had that Keith had invested himself in, with great interest at that. Mediocrity had been a plague on Keith's everyday life. He felt a change, ever so slowly.

"Same here," Keith said, clearing his throat with a gruff, restrained cough.

"Hm?"

"I'm twenty."

"Yeah, I thought so," Lance said with a half-smile, and then. "But you sure know how to act like your forty."

Keith clicked his tongue. "Yeah, well, it doesn't hurt to be a little mature. Maybe you'd learn something from it?"

"Boooring," Lance sangsong dully. "But I get it. I mean, I'd be a hot mess, too, if I had nothing to do but talks to ghosts all day."

"It's not like I do it for a living," Keith stopped at a red light, glancing at Lance in the passenger side, who had his arms crossed and a skeptical _mhmmm_ look.

"You just seem like...like a guy who doesn't really like to pair up much."

"Oh, you think?"

"Keith," went Lance softly, and he felt his chest go tight. "I think it's pretty obvious you're the lone wolf guy, but a word of advice?"

"What's that?" Keith asked, making his voice feign interest. Truthfully, though, he was a little eager to hear this.

"Lighten up. Try joining the land of the living, huh? Get out there! You're young, you're allowed to have some fuu~uun," Lance danced a little jig in his seat for emphasis, pumping his fists with exaggeration and flashing his trademark smile.

Unbidden laughter escaped Keith at second glance, and he instinctively raised a gloved hand to veil his grin.

"So, the creature laughs."

"I wasn't," Keith lied, forcing his lips tight again and adding. "You're a total...goofball."

"A goofball?"

"Yeah, you know, actually, you kind of remind me of someone." An old soul, Keith thought. But still full of life and wisdom. He thought of the kind spirit who often lingered by his job, Henry.

The prolonged silence that followed made him look to see if Lance was still listening. He was twiddling his thumbs in his lap, eyes on his jeans.

"You gotta not do that," went Lance evenly, and Keith raised a brow.

"Do what?"

"Compare me to a ghost," Lance said, correctly assuming. "Like there's only three types of people in the world. We're not jigsaw puzzles, Keith."

Keith went quiet again, exchanging a look between Lance and the road.

"So, can you start treating me, um, normally?" Lance asked.

Keith made a tight right on the next street, furrowing his brows in Lance's direction. "And how's that?"

"As you should," Lance gave a nod in kind. "Human."

Keith may have been a distant guy, but he knew a wounded look when he saw it, even if Lance did do a fine job of covering it up. He never wanted to be responsible for putting a look like that on his face again.

Keith nodded, and he felt that second, that something very good may come from that compromise. "Okay."

If only Lance could also feel how much he was changing.

"Great!" Lance's regular pep was back in his voice.

"Great," Keith affirmed, a fuzzy feeling foreign in his stomach.

The car inclined as they drove on the street uphill. Dozens of Victorian houses lined up on either side, one identical to the next, and all pastel in color. Keith had been up this Easter egg-esque block before. Numerous times, actually. Allura lived down this strip, though he couldn't place the exact number her house was. Any time he'd gone to visit, it was with Shiro, and at night. Her place didn't exactly stick out like a sore thumb amongst a bunch of cookie-cutter houses, but he felt it by memory.

Lance pointed a fingergun at Keith as they pulled over to the designated address. "Now, about that mullet."

Keith hit the brakes. Hard.

Lance's body jerked forward, and his head went clear through the dashboard. Lance lifted his head up, animatedly fuming and flailing. "What did we just agree on?!"

"Hair's off limits," said Keith.

"Keith! You could've—"

"What? Killed you? Can't exactly kill someone who's already—"

Lance raised his brows expectantly.

"You know what I mean," Keith killed the engine to the car.

After hopping out the mustang, Keith eyed the only address in the little book, chicken scratch taking up most of the page. "Here we are," he walked around to the sidewalk, watching Lance oddly stick his leg and the rest of his body through the car door. As a spirit without body, he can imagine it odd to not be able to open things.

Lance shook like a puppy after a fresh bath, and it was nothing short of amusing for Keith to watch.

"Mandalay," Keith held out the address noted in the little book he held. "Is that a five or a six?"

Lance squinted at the paper. "Uh, five? ..Yeah, definitely a five."

"Your penmanship's awful," Keith said snidely, shaking his head and walking up the porch of the residence.  _ Mandalay 425. _

"You're awful," Lance said, goodnatured and jogging up to Keith's side as he rang the doorbell.

"This place look familiar to you?" Keith asked, and Lance stole a glance up and down the house, then down the rest of the neighborhood's strip.

"Not really," Lance said. "But...I feel like I know this street."

"I do, too," Keith gestured behind him. "My brother's girlfriend lives here."

"Funny," Lance said, blinking down at the floorboards, as if attempting to recollect a memory.

Through the windowpane of the front door, a woman emerged into the entry hall. She opened the door, flashing a meek smile. The woman was pretty, short with auburn hair that'd been streaked silver with age. Lance was squinting in hard concentration, as if trying to place her face.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Hi," Keith made a meager smile, very briefly in kind. "Uh, this may sound a little odd, but I was wondering if you knew a certain guy."

The woman tilted her head, eyebrows raised for him to elaborate.

"Brown hair, blue eyes," Keith made a gesture in the air as to decipher yay-high. "About five-eight?"

"Nine," Lance corrected. "Nine and a half, maybe."

Okay,  _ a half _ sounded like boasting to Keith. "Five-nine, maybe?"

"Oh, my god," the woman's friendly nature dropped, and she leaned forward, formerly fair expression verging on batty. "Who are you?"

"Uh, I don't know you, I just—"

"Did my husband hire you?" the woman interrupted, eyes wide.

Keith blinked, swallowing. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Ooh!" the woman stomped her heel, and Keith suddenly felt like an intruder. "I knew he'd find out!"

"I'm confused."

Lance's eyes went round, gullible and equally puzzled as Keith's.

"Whatever's he's paying you, I'll double it," the woman glanced over her shoulder, closing the door a fraction. "Anything you want."

"I'm..not looking for money," Keith said awkwardly.

"Who's at the door, Jenny?" a man's voice called from inside the house, and the woman of the residence practically squealed.

"That's him," she said, stepping back inside and hissing to Keith. "Stop by around six. I'll have a check ready!"

Keith opened his mouth, raising a hand. "Uh—" The door slammed.

Lance, beside him, flinched. His lips were wriggled in a taut line of discomfort, and he looked just as befuddled. Did that just happen?

Keith faced Lance and studied his apparent astonishment. He gave a little "wow", turning and striding down the porch steps. That was something.

Maybe Lance wasn't exactly the angel he presented himself to be. Albeit wanting to make some humor of it, Keith felt a little disappointed in that discovery for reasons beyond pinpointing. He wagered to tease Lance about it anyway.

"Hm," Keith clicked his tongue, like a know-it-all, as Lance marched back to the car.

"Oh, what?" Lance snapped over his shoulder, defensive. He gestured back to the house behind them, his voice gone tight and prickly. "You don't think I was actually  _ with _ that, that cougar, do you?! She was old enough to be my mom!"

"Kinda looks that way," Keith joked wryly, lips tight in a phony smile.

"That's disgusting," Lance hissed, whipping around to face Keith again. "That is so wrong. I have boundaries. I have ethics!"

"Well, maybe we should look on the bright side," Keith couldn't resist another jest. "At six o'clock, I'm coming into some money."

That had looked like it took the last of Lance's patience. He threw his hands into the air, stomping foot-to-foot in what may have been the world's angriest little dance. "AUUGH!!" He walked away from Keith, away from the car, and instead ventured up the sidewalk.

Keith rolled his eyes, groaning and trailing after him. "Lance," he called after, puffing on cold winter air. "Ah, come on, I was just kidding. Lance."

"Nope," said Lance, crossing his arms and stomping ahead.

Keith jogged up to him, catching to his side and watching Lance's face go naked of emotion as he stopped dead in his trail.

"Oh, god," Lance said, eyes lost ahead. "Maybe I was a slut. A lonely, home-wrecking slut."

"Jeez," Keith sighed, rolling his eyes at Lance's melodramatic behavior. Amidst the eyeroll, his gaze locked across the street, focusing on a familiar baby blue Victorian.

He knows that dollhouse of a home. Allura's.

His gaze dared to dart to the numbers mounted next to her front door:  _ 426 _

Keith pulled the little address book out from his jacket's pocket. He squinted at the chicken scratch from earlier, flattened out a wrinkle in the paper with the nail of his thumb and revealed the supposed '5' as a messy '6'.

Looked like Lance wasn't anyone's pleasure on the side, after all.

Lance took some steps forward before Keith called after him.

"Hey, dumbass, " Keith said, voice gritty from the cold. He held up the little address in his hand. "Mandalay 426."

Lance's sad face brightened like a new bulb, peppy visage anew. "Really?"

"Really," Keith confirmed, and then looked back to Allura's house. "But...how do you know this place?"

"I-I dunno," Lance blinked at the house across the road, and then a smile bloomed over his face quiet recognition. "But I know this house, definitely."

A brisk wind gusted against Lance and Keith as they hurried along up the steps to Allura's house. Luckily, they weren't about to be chased by the light drizzle sweeping through the area.

"How do you know Allura?" Keith asked as he rang the doorbell, visibly interested.

"The name sounds familiar," Lance shook his head. "I can't put a face to it, but I remember someone else.."

Oh no, Keith thought too little too late, and the door swept open with grand force.

"Well, hey there, Red, it's good to see yaaa!" Coran, an all too familiar man with carrot-colored hair took up the door, tweaking his handlebar stache. "Let's get you out this weather, huh?"

"THAT'S THE GUY!" Lance yelled with his revelation, making Keith flinch.

After being invited into the household, Keith's led off to the living room adjacent to the open entry hall, and Coran talked circles around him like he hadn't had a guest in years. But that's just Coran. Good ol' eccentric Coran, with the wild rep as a nutty professor at Keith's university. Supposedly, he'd been all over the world, spending his early years as a globetrotter. He often shared stories of days back when he was a boy, and the various cultures he'd come across. Coran had the precise flare of an intriguing storyteller, Kiwi accent and all, and the students absolutely ate that up. But because of his wild stories, he was also subjected to being a total kook.

Well, that was up to anyone's interpretation. Keith knew exactly what it was like to be dubbed as an odd one, and that is what he admired about the elder man. He was no stranger to Keith's sixth sense, either. He was present for Allura's final meeting with her father. After Alfor passed, Coran had happily taken the liberty of being her caretaker. Coran had his own room upstairs. He'd been very close to Allura's father, and Keith never dared broach the question as to why he'd put aside his own life to help raise her.

"Why, it reminds me of that time I came across those Yelmors back in '93!" Coran waffled, attention trained up to the tv mounted over the fireplace.

"Coran?" Keither interrupted, and the elder man ceased his rambling.

"Would you like some homemade green jello?" Coran asked, and then snapped his fingers, turning and sprinting back to the kitchen without a given answer. "Thank you for reminding me!"

"Yep, I definitely remember him," Lance groused, perched atop the head of the couch with his feet planted on the cushions. "And who the heck wears a Hawaiian shirt in December? Or at all. Period."

"Coran, apparently," Keith answered before his gaze flickered to Lance beside him. "Wait, you do?"

"Yeah!" Lance said. "He's the assistant astronomy professor in our class. Ah, he and I were building a telescope, but I..."

Lance let the sentence die on the vine, and Keith lifted a brow in question as his face went sad.

"I never finished it," Lance said, and then spoke with his hands, grasping the air. "I-I was so busy, I never had time to do anything aside from work."

Keith took in a breath, a little lost in what Lance said. Lance had Allura and Coran as professor's, too. They'd went to the same university, had the same classes and yet, they had not once crossed paths. Keith was the one in the wrong. Keith was the one closed off from the rest of the world. Shiro was right.

"Heeere's that jello!" Coran entered the room, and then stilled in the living room's entrance as he sensed the grave nature. "Did somebody die..?"

"Ha-ha," went Lance, feigning interest in his nailbeds with a tired look on his face.

"Coran," Keith prompted again, and the elder man took a seat on the twin sofa across him. "I actually came here for another reason."

Just as he said so, the front door creaked in apprise of someone entering, and a chill blew in the house.

"Ooh, it's freezing out there," Allura's teeth chattered through the main hall, and she entered the living room, stopping short once she'd seen Keith and Coran in the same room.

"Keith," she said on a breath, aqua eyes rounding. "What are you doing here?" Keith felt she probably wouldn't want the answer to that, knowing he'd taken off work all week specifically for his investigation.

"I-I came to ask about Lance," Keith sputtered, and Coran stopped before spooning cubed jello in his mouth.

Coran blinked animatedly in confusion, and Allura's voice prompted the medium to stand.

"Keith!" Allura said, stern first, before she remembered to smile. She jerked her head towards the entry hall. "A word? Please?"

"Is he here right now?" Coran asked, stealing a quick cursory glance of the living room. "Lance! Are yooou heeere, Lance?"

"Oh, my god," went Lance, shaking his head with an exasperated smile.

"Stay here," Keith said to Lance on the couch, to which the spirit sullenly puffed his cheeks and gave a grumpy _'fine'_.

Allura, by the entryway, tapped her foot, and Keith went walking to where she waited. As he approached her, she held a knuckle under her chin.

"Lance?" she whispered. "Lance is the ghost in the loft?"

"I know," Keith said. "I know, and I'm sorry for going to Coran for this, but he was our only lead—"

"Our?" Allura asked, astonished. "Keith, that's...that can't be possible."

Keith felt his brows furrow tight in confusion. "Why are you acting like this is new to you, suddenly?"

Allura shook her head, ivory curls jostling with the movement. "I'm not. It's just that—I mean, Lance. He's not dead."

"I knew it!" Lance whooped, eavesdropping from the living room.

Keith sighed, relieved. "Thanks for clarifying. But I just need to know where he is."

"Are you sure?" Allura asked.

"Yes," Keith said. "I'm not offering my time here for nothing."

"The Gorgonites used to offer their young during the winter solstice in  _their_ village back in my day!" Coran quipped from the couch.

Allura and Keith deadpanned at the man, who smiled cheekily and spooned jello into his mouth, returning his attention back to the daytime talk show on tv. Lance, meanwhile, stood around Coran, curling a lip at his dessert.

"Alright," Allura gave in. "I just want you to know what you're getting yourself into."

"How did you know him?" Keith asked.

"He was—is my student. He came here regularly. I hadn't realized Hunk and Pidge moved into his apartment."

"He wanted to make his own observation deck," Coran said, setting aside his little bowl of green jello. "Every so often, he'd come by here, and I'd help him assemble this telescope he'd wanted so bad."

"That's right! He helped me finish the telescope! ..I want to see the stars," Lance's face was lacking it's natural charm.

It felt as if every memory was triggering a certain sadness within the guy. Keith's heart tightened. There was no question that he wanted to help Lance, now more than ever.

He turned to face Allura. "Tell me where he is."

 

\---

Between the drive from Allura's house and to the hospital, Lance had a resurgence of memories. They played in his mind like flashes—visions of a film strip being pulled before his eyes.

He remembered feeling stressed, a stern talk about his future with his mother. He remembered programs he'd jammed himself with, engulfed in long study sessions night after night. Lance declined nights out with friends, and it had become such a routine, he felt as though he had been losing who he was as a person. He had been working so hard for something.

Then came a letter in the mail.

 

\---

Keith and Lance made a beeline for the front desk after going through the hospital's main entrance. The bright lighting casted a gentler ambience against sea blue walls in an otherwise foreboding building. Keith hated hospitals, for obvious reasons. The last thing he needed was a hoard of spirits trying to get his attention, when he was still trying to figure out how to help this one.

Keith remembered being here. Though they went to a flight-based college, entering med clinicals was a requirement for cargo pilots.

That's right.  He _was_ a cargo pilot.

"Just do as I say," Lance guided in Keith's ear, close enough to make the skin on his jaw buzz. "I know this place."

"I know what I'm doing," Keith groused, standing amidst the reception parlor.

"I know these people," Lance said, his famous grin coming back in full with surety, as though his memories were breaking free like a dam giving way. "I came here during clinicals."

"You're a cargo pilot?" Keith asked, and Lance grunted a quick affirmation, unwatching as Keith went on ahead.

"Yeah, I was. I-I am," Lance turned. "Keith?"

Keith stood before the receptionist's desk, and the woman behind the counter looked up at him, greeting with a questionable blink. "May I help you?"

"They won't let you near me if you don't know who I am," Lance was in Keith's ear again. "Tell her you have a severe condition."

"I have a severe condition," Keith parroted, and the receptionist raised her eyebrows in signal for him to elaborate.

"Tell her you have a tension pneumothorax," Lance said.

"I have a tension nemothaxer."

"Pneumothorax," Lance corrected.

"Pneumathaxer."

"Pneumothorax."

"Pneumathorman."

"Ugh," Lance groaned. "Forget it."

The receptionist blinked at Keith like he was a nut straight out the ward. "Do you...need help?"

"Keith," Lance went soft again. "Just say the truth."

"Yes," Keith sighed, exasperated as they both couldn't handle another second of suspense. "I'm here to see Lance..."

The receptionist drilled away at the keys of her computer, then flicked her gaze up at him again. "McClain? Lance McClain?"

"McClain," Lance mused at his side. "Yes, that's my name!"

"Yeah," Keith confirmed.

The receptionist stood from her chair, and Keith felt his stomach go tight as piano wire as the look fixed on her face read vacantly. "Oh," she raised a finger, voice soft. "One moment, please. I'll be right back."

As the receptionist turned and left her cubicle, Lance sighed and put his head in his hands. "Oh, no."

"What?" Keith asked.

"She's got that tone, the one where they're trying to find a nice way to tell you that your friend's kicked the bucket!"

Keith swallowed hard, a funny gulp of a noise.

The receptionist returned to her cubicle shortly afterwards, face stiff as a rock. "Excuse me, sir? I need you to go to the third floor, please. Nurses' station."

On the elevator up, Lance was quiet, averse to how he always was around Keith. It felt like it should be instinct, to reach out and grab the other's hand. Keith flexed his fingers in and out of his palm. In the short shared time with Lance, he could not recall ever feeling so unguarded around someone. They did not beat around the bush with the thoughts in their head, and despite the stark contrast in personalities, he couldn't brush off the strange thread of connection he felt between them. It put him off. It felt dangerous and disarming.

The elevator opened with a  _ping_ ,  and Lance and Keith walked out into the hall. In the main foyer of the third floor, an older woman stood, waiting in the center. She had a fair face, careworn with age, and short hair that curled into light honey ringlets. Keith recognized her immediately as Mrs. Holt, Pidge's mother. To his luck, her eyes did not register him as recognizable. Pidge had constructed a whole ruse as to why she and Hunk had not been staying in their current sublet. Keith was glad she bought it.

Lance, on the other hand. "Oh, god," his voice sounded devastated. "That's Dr. Holt. She's my mentor. They wouldn't send us here if it wasn't bad."

"Relax," Keith said just under his breath, walking up to Dr. Holt to introduce himself. He stuck a hand out to appear as cordial as possible. "Hi. Keith Kogane."

"Dr. Holt," she shook his hand, donning a smile in kind and retracting from the shake. "You were inquiring about Lance McClain?"

"Yeah," Keith nodded.

"Oh, well," Dr. Holt hugged the clipboard to her chest, coral-painted lips tight with unease. "He was one of my students in our clinical studies."

Lance frowned. "Was?"

"That's right," Keith's throat felt tight. "Could you, ah, tell me what happened to him?"

Dr. Holt flashed a meager smile. "Well, first I need to know your relationship with him."

"Tell her you're my boyfriend," Lance blurted, and Keith's eyes went round as saucers, darting from the spirit to Dr. Holt. "She can't tell you anything if you don't."

Dr. Holt followed his eyes confusedly.

"Uh," Keith swallowed after an awkward silence, brows knitting up. "We were...romantic..with each other."

Dr. Holt tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"You know, boyfriend-boyfriend," Keith said, showing teeth with an awkward smile. His cheeks felt embarrassingly warm.

Lance served him and odd look.

"I know what romantic means," Dr. Holt laughed shortly. "I meant, ah, I have a hard time believing that."

"What," Keith and Lance spoke in unison. "Why?"

"Because, Lance was a very..dedicated student," Dr. Holt said.

That seemed rather tough to believe. To Keith, Lance harbored that class clown personality, the type to spend more time doodling in the margins of his notes than actually read them. And then, to think again, he had also been very intent the prior days on working Keith to the bone to find out about his past.

"He was very focused on graduating from being a cargo pilot," Dr. Holt continued, and Keith retained focus on what she was saying. "Granted, he was a very outgoing boy, but...personally, he became quite reclusive. All he wanted to do was graduate to fighter class. That's all he was focused on. He raved about it. Or so, that's what my daughter mentioned to me. They were both in my class."

Lance exchanged a befuddled look with Keith very briefly before blinking. "That's right. She  was in my class," he sighed. "She doesn't even know she's living in my apartment."

Keith's eyes flicked back to Dr. Holt. "We were recent. I, uh, live in his apartment building."

Dr. Holt's voice went soft. "So, you don't know about the accident?"

"Accident," Keith repeated. "What accident?"

Lance wrinkled his nose, as though a thought intruded, a terrible thought. He looked as though he tried to push it away, but it buzzed at the edges of his consciousness, a bee in the garden.

Lance had a memory.

_White light encompassed his line of vision. An approaching truck screeched down the very road he had drove. The windshield shattered and sprinkled into millions of pieces. He'd felt his chest go sour._

"Keith," Lance whispered so faintly, as if afraid to break the spell of memories. "I remember it."

"I was, um, away," Keith shook his head at Dr. Holt, mindful to Lance's hushed comment, mindful to his entire demeanor.

"It was three months ago," Dr. Holt said.

_A coil of uncertainty tightened in Lance's chest. For the first time, in what may have been a long time, Lance felt his heart beating. It was a soft rhythm, like hammer against cloth. Dr. Holt and Keith's conversation decreased in noise, their voices growing distant as if underwater. His body felt summerlight, and his toes went off the ground as he drifted down the hall and away from the pair._

_His sneakers touched the floor again when he found himself before a room in particular. With a bated breath, Lance walked through the door and into the hospital room._

_Meager winter sun split between the blinds of the window that took up the far wall. On the windowsill, various cases of bouquets were joined under the paltry amount of light bleeding through. Pictures were arranged in a line, all frames various in color. Lance's face was amongst every picture. Some with family, others with friends. He was laughing, smiling in all of them, as he remembered he always had._

_Lance's eyes skirted to the noise of the heart monitor in the room, and there he saw his comatose body, limp in bed. He stood at the footboard, watching the weak rise and fall of his chest under an oxygen mask. Dark circles shaded under lidded eyes; his brown skin was deprived of liveliness—careworn, unnourished._

_"Oh, my god," he whispered._

_He was a sad thing to behold._

The door clicked open and shut. Keith walked in.

"What was that? You were, like, flying," Keith entered the room. For a split second, he was paralyzed in awe, eyebrows high. "Oh, my god. It's you."

Lance said nothing. He walked over to his bedside and watched over himself in silence.

Keith approached the opposite end. "It's you, it's really you."

Lance's body was there, laying before him. He looked different to Keith. Comatose Lance had lost his natural glow, as if he were a Christmas light winking out. His rich cocoa hair was mussed against the pillow, licked up in places like ruffled duck feathers. He was brittle, and yet, so beautiful.

_Yeah,_ Keith thought. _Beautiful._

"You're..You're not dead, you're alive," Keith said.

"I know, Keith, but I'm in a coma," Lance combed a hand through his hair. "This isn't good."

"It's way better than being dead," Keith almost felt in the wrong to don a relieved smile, so he repressed it. He gestured a finger out. "Look at you, you're body's healing. You don't have any scars, you're—you look cute."

Lance flushed. He looked at Keith and sighed, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter how I look, Keith. Three months, I've been like this. That's not a good sign."

"Well, we're here now," Keith raised both hands. "Let's do something."

"Like what?"

"I-I don't know," Keith frowned. "It's your body."

"Right, right," Lance swayed a little, pondering before a scoff. "Ugh, forget it."

"What?"

"I was gonna say," Lance started. "I was gonna say we should try putting my body together."

Keith nodded, eager. "Okay, sounds good.. Uh, how do we do that, exactly?"

Lance shrugged, sticking a leg out. "Guess we can try this," he lined himself up on the bed, and then threw himself into his comatose body.

Keith watched the beeping monitor on his side. "Hey!" he chirped, giddiness foreign to his tone. "I think it might be working."

Lance stuck his head up from his body, making it look as if he had two heads. "Yeah?!" he scowled down. "I don't think so."

"Try again."

Lance did.

"I mean, like, really hold on inside there."

Lance flopped his arms up and down like a wild jelly, but his comatose self remained limp. After some exasperating moments, Lance sat up. "Uugh, it's not working."

What a classic case of Peter Pan and his runaway shadow. There was nothing signifying change in the atmosphere, and that made Keith's stomach do a nervous flip-flop. He ordered himself to keep his composure, scrutinizing the body in the bed before him and attempting to formulate an idea.

Lance stood off by the window again, sullen. "It's like I'm not even connected to myself anymore."

"Uh, alright," Keith shot a look towards the Lance. He lifted his brows and made a vague gesture. "Turn around."

"What?"

"Just..trust me, alright? I just wanna try something."

Lance did as he said, casting a wary glance over his shoulder before facing the pictures and flowers on the windowsill.

Keith withdrew a breath, drawing flush to Lance's bedside again. He reached down and, tentatively, slipped Lance's limp hand into his own. The pillowy flesh of his palm was cold. He grazed a thumb in small circles against brown skin, glancing at the embodying spirit.

Lance raised his hand and turned around, blinking owlishly. Keith lowered the limp hand in his own back to the mattress.

"You felt that?" Keith asked. A flicker of hope quirked his lips.

"Yeah," Lance returned the smile, curling his fingers. "Felt tingly. But, but it was something."

"So you are connected to your body," Keith strode to the footboard of the hospital bed.

Lance glanced over Keith's shoulder. "But the monitor—"

"Machine's don't always work, Lance."

"Everything I've trained with tells me they do," Lance's face fell.

"Then how are we having this conversation?" Keith asked.

Lance opened his mouth, and the door to the room opened. Dr. Holt poked her head in.

"Excuse me, Keith? I have a meeting soon, and I can't leave you here unattended," she said.

"Just a few more minutes," Keith said curtly, and then corrected himself. "Please. I just need to say goodbye."

Dr. Holt nodded apologetically and left once again.

Lance walked back to the windowsill of pictures. "Look at these," he said quietly. He pointed to a horribly caricatured version of himself in messy crayola. His head was drawn like a melon. "My niece and nephew must've drawn this."

"Wow. They really captured your likeness," Keith joked, and Lance's laugh was soft, sad.

He found himself missing Lance's genuine laughter. Keith picked up one frame in particular.

"That's me and my sister, Lori," Lance said. "I was supposed to meet her the night of the crash."

"Yeah?"

"I was about to move on up to fighter class. We were gonna celebrate," Lance sounded stuffy. He gestured to the hospital bed, walking back to where his cardiac monitor stood. "Now look at me."

Keith wrung his hands, glancing from the door to Lance. He sighed, worry pooling in his gut. "I'm gonna have to leave soon."

The look Lance served back at him wavered as surprised, but only briefly. "Okay," he said.

"I'll wait for you in the lobby," Keith said. "If you want."

"Don't," went Lance, and Keith felt his heart drop. "You can go."

What felt like fire emblazoned in Keith's chest. He wanted to argue that, but Lance was right. The deed was done. He'd delivered his end of the promise, and he helped Lance find out who he was. But he'd done more than he ever had on a regular case, too. There was one rule Keith had, and that had been to never invest himself in who he was working with. It always led to goodbyes, and Keith hated goodbyes.

"Thanks for helping me," Lance didn't sound too grateful.

"I mean," Keith's mouth felt dry. Why couldn't he just give up? "Are you sure you don't wanna come back with me? It is your apartment, after all." He felt pathetic.

"I know, just," Lance glanced at his comatose body. "After making it all this way, I really can't just leave me."

"Right."

"I don't really know where else I belong," Lance said, the smile on his face paltry, sad.

Dr. Holt entered quickly. "Keith? I'm sorry."

Keith stole one last look at the guy who'd been like glue to him the past few days. His body felt stiff. He wanted Lance to come back home with him. Even if it wasn't his, he didn't like the idea of just leaving him alone. Maybe he didn't like the thought of leaving Lance altogether. If he turned away now, his life would return to as it always had been. Routinely boring. He was sure he didn't want to go back to that. But stepping back was the only right thing, and he'd feel selfish if he didn't comply and turn away now.

This shouldn't have felt as hard as it did.

Keith pocketed his hands. "Bye, Lance," and then walked through the door.

It closed after both him and the doctor. Silence descended amongst the hospital room. Lance stared at the door. "Bye, Keith."

 

\---

Idle time had ticked by of Lance patiently watching over his bed. With the world gone quiet once again, he felt like climbing the walls. Three months. Three months, he had been like this.

He stole one lingering look at his unconscious self, and then passed through the wall behind him. Lance walked back to the nurses' station, where one of the them had stopped to speak with Dr. Holt.

"So, who was that guy?"

"Said he was his boyfriend," Dr. Holt set her clipboard on the desk.

"Oh," went the nurse, lifting her eyebrows.

"Yeah," Dr. Holt penned something in over some papers. "Poor kid. Life's just begun, and then something like that happens."

A thread of hurt wove itself in Lance's chest.

"'Least he found someone that made him happy," the nurse glanced at the elevator Keith had disappeared into. "I can't imagine going through life and not knowing what that felt like."

Lance felt strangled in the shame of being a pity case. His life had just begun, and it'd only taken one truck to undo all of that. Keith's absence felt like a loss. Lance was meant to live a long, happy life. It wasn't supposed to end so soon. He found himself yearning for the Keith's reassurance again.

Lance walked away from the nurses' station. Down the hall, doctors meandered to and fro, going about their business as per usual. A nurse walked in and out a supply closet, a patient was being tested just behind a windowed room. Lance stood amidst the tangle of work, invisible. A low, tight whine died in his throat. T here was no worse pain than being dead to the world around him.

It was the crow of a little girl's voice that answered his cry. The elevator on the far end of the hall slid open, and a young boy and girl sprang out.

Lance felt familiarity hug around him like the warmest blanket, watching for the children. He felt his mouth go agape with joy as his niece and nephew spread their arms, spitting the noises of fighter planes and charging down the hospital halls.

"Brandon?" Lance asked, and the little boy zoomed past him. A fairly smaller girl in pigtails sped in suit of him. "Aubrey? Hey!" he sprinted after them, adoring and loud. "You guys got so big!"

They ran to his room, entered noisily and raced to the still boy's bedside.

Brandon gripped his limp wrist, clucking a tongue out at his sister victoriously. "HA! I won you!"

Lance felt himself actually giggle at his wording, standing at the foot of the hospital bed. He grinned.

"Nuh-uh!" Aubrey countered, lifting his other hand.

"Uh-huh!" they gently tugged each limp hand back and forth.

Confused, Lance looked down at his own hands, brows furrowed as he recalled Keith's actions just earlier. "How come I could feel him, and not you guys?"

Behind him, his sister, Lori, entered the room. She carried a bright vase of flowers in one arm.

"What did I tell you guys?" Lori asked, pointing a finger and using the tone. "No running, no screaming."

"Lori!" Lance jumped. "Lori, Lori, can you see me?"

Lori walked straight through him, and Lance shivered, wilting. "Guess not."

Lori set the case amongst the many on the windowsill.

"I hope you feel better soon," Aubrey leaned into the bedside mattress, baby face pursed as she whispered her blessings.

"We miss you," Brandon still held close to Lance's wrist.

"I'm so glad you guys are here," Lance said to the bed, batting his eyes to keep tears at bay.

Lori stood beside him, painfully oblivious, and running fingers through her curly brown hair.

"Where's mom?" Lance asked her. "Are those her flowers in the white vase? I knew I recognized the carnations from her garden."

Expectedly, she didn't answer. Lance sniffed, stared at his sneakers. How could he possibly hurt more?

"Excuse me," a gruff man's voice came from the door. A tall, broad-shouldered white coat with a stern face entered the room. Lance squinted at his pin:  _ Dr. Sendak, MD. _

He fit the description of a soldier rather than a doctor.

Lori turned, and Sendak extended a hand to her, giving a firm shake.

"Dr. Sendak," he said, gesturing his head towards the hall. "Could I have a quick word?"

"Sure," Lori said, and they walked just past the door.

Lance did not like his patronizing smile. He felt a scowl on his face and stood by their side.

"I just wanted to say, I understand that this is very hard on you and your family," Sendak started. "We understand very much."

Lori nodded.

"Because he was, well, a student in one of our programs, we have taken extraordinary measures for the past three months," Sendak said. His gruff voice sounded contemptuous over what easily could been worded as a decent apology.

Lori tilted her head. "I'm sorry?"

"You shouldn't be," Lance said beside her, sizing up Sendak.

"There's not a easy way to put this," Sendak went. "Did he ever talk to you about signing release forms?"

"No," Lance growled. "Never! Don't lie to her!"

"Nooo," Lori drawled, brown eyes wide. She laughed, bitter and humorless. "That's insane. He's only twenty."

"I know," Sendak sighed, pocketing his hands. "As of last week, though, his scan results have been coming back showing decreasing brain activity."

"What?" Lance and Lori asked in unison.

"But," Lori's mouth fell open, and she blinked to her senses. "People have woken up from this kind of coma, right?"

Sendak shook his head. "At his rate, it's become a persistent coma. It's become more unlikely."

"No, it hasn't!" Lance half-yelled, half-cried. "Otherwise, what am I doing here? ..Uugh, I feel carsick."

Brandon and Aubrey giggled loudly from inside the room, and Lori shot a glare inside before ditching Sendak and marching in.

"What are you doing?" Lori asked.

Lance's bed had started folding in on himself, and the kids sat by giggling before Brandon pushed the bed's remote button to return it back to its normal state.

"Looking for the stick!" Aubrey chirped, flashing a grin that missed two front teeth.

"What stick?" Lori asked.

Brandon blinked up at his mom innocently. "You always said he had a stick up his—"

"That's enough," Lori grabbed hold of her daughter's hand, waved for her son to follow and strode out the room.

Lance followed her out the hallway, practically snarling as Sendak was in tow, too.

"Lance's brain activity is depleting," Sendak followed beside Lori, and she shot him a worrisome look. "We won't take any terminal action without you or your mother's say so."

"Say no!" Lance begged behind them.

"I've prepared this paperwork," Sendak offered a folder to Lance's sister. "If you decide to sign—"

"I'll think about it," Lori ignored the folder, walking her kids past the nurses' station.

"Lori!" Lance cried, waving his hands behind her. This was a nightmare. "Lori, please, no! I'll babysit more! I swear!"

"Sometimes we find it better to count our blessings," Sendak continued, and Lance wanted so badly to howl in protest. "And prolong the inevitable."

Lori stopped before the elevator and served a icy glare up at the man. "I said, I'd think about it."

Sendak went quiet, that money monster. "Right," he said, leaving her side and marching to the next hall without so much as a goodbye.

Lori marched inside the elevator with her kids, and Lance watched as his sister held herself together with a bated breath. She was always strong. She was strong for him.

"Thank you, Lori," Lance sighed, relief intermingling with fear in his eyes. "You've always looked out for me."

Lori looked up again. The elevator doors slid shut.

_ Ping. _

 

\--

"Lance?" Keith asked the empty loft. He stood in the center of the dark living room.

Silence met his answer.

"You still here?" he asked.

Nothing.

Keith turned on the lamps in the loft. Come morning, he would have to call Hunk and Pidge and inform them that their so-called ghost had been evicted. A certain emptiness intruded the apartment in Lance's place. It always came to Keith feeling like this. Empty and disappointed. And he was always alone, always.

Keith fixed himself an omelette dinner. He'd sat himself at the dining table, munching morosely in the quiet of the loft. Beside his plate, his iced tea condensed, beading cold and racing down the glass. Keith stood up promptly, grabbed a coaster, and slid it under his drink. He waited for no sign, stabbing at the steamed vegetables on his plate.

The doorbell rang.

A little too hopeful, Keith opened the door, and a familiar blonde from the second floor flashed an innocent smirk at him.

"I'm locked out," Nicole said.

Now, Keith wasn't a particularly picky guy, and he was no social butterfly either, but that night, he craved conversation. Even if it was small talk.

Even if it felt like Nicole had conducted an excuse to talk to him.

She made herself comfortable at the windowseat. Her heels laid in a heap at the coffee table, and she'd even let her hair fall loose. She was draped over the cushions and yet, Keith felt nothing. Probably because the obvious.

In fact, he found himself glancing over his shoulder, hopeful to see Lance, even if he were there to say something obnoxious, like "wowza", or even do a terrible impersonation of a lovestruck Daffy Duck.

Lance was silly like that.

"Are you from here?" Nicole had asked.

Keith told himself to keep it together, though, listening intently to the small talk Nicole made. She was there, and he told himself he had to at least try to enjoy socializing. He tried taking Lance's advice.

Small talk hadn't been an impossibility with Nicole, no. She had a way with words, albeit terrible. Engaging in conversation with her felt like talking to someone he hadn't seen since he was a baby. Nodding, wearing a constipated smile, and pretending to know a lot on whatever the hell they were talking about.

"Uh, I'm sorry, but the, uh," Keith signaled a phone. "Locksmith. Does he know to ring my unit?"

Nicole sat up, blinking with a befuddled look at first. "I think so," she stood, allowing her jeans to ride low on her hips. "Where's your bathroom?"

Keith pointed. "Ah, down the hall."

"Okay, thanks," Nicole turned, a flirty swing to her step as she disappeared.

Jeez,  Keith slouched as soon as she exited the living room. He stood abruptly, checking the front door. He stole a look through the peephole.

Uninvited, a certain spirit's laugh echoed in his head. Keith turned to look at the living room again, rubbing his temples and sliding his hands down his face. He felt a mess.

A sigh heaved behind him, and Keith turned heel, jumping. "WHOA," Lance was staring at him with the same hurt expression he'd been wearing as he'd left him at the hospital. A smile flashed over Keith's face instantly. "Lance! Lance, you're here."

"Yeah," Lance nodded, morose at first, and then seemingly confused.

"No, I," Keith waved a hand to clarify. "I just thought, you know, that you'd stay at the hospital with your body."

Lance rubbed a hand over his eyes, sighing again. "Keith, it's terrible. They're trying to get my sister to sign papers to take me off life support."

"No," Keith scowled. His chest went tight, as if he'd been punched. "They can't do that."

"I know! I said that, but," Lance laughed, bitter and humorless. "No one could hear me. And I just wanted to..talk to you."

"Keeeith?" Nicole's voice drifted from down the hall, sultry.

Keith and Lance whipped their heads to the sound.

"..Well, that didn't take too long," Lance said. His lips twitched, unamused.

Did he think? No. "No," Keith's eyebrows shot up, and he waved his hands frantically to explain the misunderstanding. "No, no, she invited herself! She got locked out of her apartment."

"You don't have to explain it," Lance forced a laugh, shaking his head vigorously.

"No, no," Keith said again. "You don't get it. She's just using the bathroom, so."

"Voice sounded like it was coming from the bedroom," Lance interrupted, glaring down the hall.

"What?" Keith rasped, following Lance's pointed gaze.

Lo and behold, Nicole tossed garments out to the hall. Hers, to be precise. Panties flew out last, and then the bedroom door shut. "I wanna show you something," she teased.

Lance's mouth fell open, and he snapped it shut quickly, nodding with a scrunched nose.

Keith went slack-jawed, whispering and waving denials again. "I had no idea, I swea—"

"No idea she was naked on your bed?" Lance interrupted, fine brows arched dubiously.

"No," Keith said. He shook his head like a scolded dog.

Lance scrutinized his face, canting his head slowly, like a conniving cat. "You're wondering what she looks like."

Keith huffed a harsh laugh. "I'm really," he squinted. "Really not."

Keith's head felt like alphabet soup, and he tried fishing for anything Nicole must've picked up on to assume he wanted that. He didn't even think he liked her. Keith glanced down the hall again. Certainly not like that.

"Tell ya what," Lance raised a finger, pressing the offensive with a smirk. "I'll do a little recon for you."

"No," Keith hissed, but the brunet was already striding to the bedroom. "Lance, no."

"Don't worry!" Lance chirped. "I'm in clinicals."

"No, no, no, no, no," Keith paced a little further.

"Relax!" Lance said. He stuck his head through the door. "Ooh," his voice came muffled from inside, and then he leaned back to glance at Keith, pink-cheeked. "She's got a tattoo on her ass."

Keith slid his hands down his face.

Lance poked his head through the door before facing him again. "It says,  _ All aboard._"

"Really?"

"In three languages," Lance walked back down the hall.

"Oh, that's funny," Keith said, sarcastic.

"She's very cultural," Lance nodded, playing posh.

There was a trace of spite in Lance's attempt of nonchalance that Keith took as genuinely alarming. In a good way. "You sound jealous," Keith revelated.

Lance rolled his eyes,  _ pffting. _ "Oh, please."

"You do," Keith smirked, folding his arms in an accusatory way. Lance's head seemed to duck a little, a pout shaping his lips.

"Are you talking to someone?" Nicole stepped out into the hall. Thankfully, she had a towel wrapped around her figure. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Keith looked up, clearing his throat with a cough. "Nothing."

Lance glanced from Nicole to Keith.

"Look," Nicole shifted her weight, and her eyes looked open and honest. "I'm sorry if I'm coming on a little too strong."

Lance looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. Maybe he was jealous. He flickered blue eyes to Keith, flitting over him before returning to the blonde at the end of the hall.

"I hear you sometimes," Nicole continued, looking skyward. "Up here, by yourself. I just figured, maybe you were lonely," her heavy gaze trained back to Keith. "I know I am."

Lance droppped his gaze to his shoes in shame. A feeble, unheard sigh came from him as he looked commiserated.

"Is it wrong of me to want someone close? Feel a warm body next to me?" Nicole asked.

Lance was the withering string. He turned to Keith. "Keith," he shook his head. "Just do it."

"What?" Keith lifted a brow at Lance. The fuck was happening.

"Go ahead," Lance waved to Nicole. "It's what you both want."

"No, it isn't," Keith shook his head.

"Are you alright?" Nicole lifted sharp brows. "..Do you need to take some kind of medication? It's cool if you do." She shrugged.

"She's right here," Lance's voice softened. "And she's right in front of you," like he wasn't, "And I'm in the way."

"No, you're not!" Keith's voice pitched, eyes following Lance as he marched past. "Lance! Lance!"

Lance still didn't get it. Keith looked after the spirit as he fled down the hall, fading until he was nothing. Light filled his absence.

Keith turned his head back to Nicole, who was idly twisting a lock of blonde around her finger.

"It's Nicole," she said with a smile. And then, she dropped her towel. "Whoops."

Keith looked her up and down, dumbfounded. This was not going to work. "Yeah," he furrowed his brows, bared his teeth, and let the truth tumble out. "I'm gay."

 

\---

Keith shrugged his windbreaker on as he came out on the loft's roof. The warm glow of nightlife progressively rose into the inky winter sky above. San Francisco was alive.

"That was quick," Lance was leaned back, resting his forearms behind him at the corner ledge.

"Come on, you know nothing happened."

The city looked brilliant behind Lance, and Keith wasn't quite sure what glowed more then. He went to stand beside him.

"What'd you tell her?" Lance stared out at the jagged city.

"I said," Keith felt his lips pull in, hesitant before answering. "That I was gay."

Lance blinked rapidly at the city, attention flickering back to Keith. "Oh, I..I didn't know."

Keith shrugged, briefly cheeky. "I'm not."

"Oh."

"I mean," Keith tapped the toe of his sneaker on the pavement. "I might be? I don't know."

Truthfully, romance hadn't necessarily plagued Keith's mind before. It brought forth an entire ensemble of emotions he barely even had names for, much less the means to express. There was no one to get too close to while growing up, when most people were in and out of his life. Disposables. He had one too many problems, he'd thought, and there would have never be enough space for him to love someone. Or be loved in return.

Lance said nothing, and that prompted Keith to say something else. "I also said I was seeing someone."

A soft, sighing laugh came from Lance, and Keith's eyes met with a tepid, beautiful smile. "Did you also mention you're the only one who could?"

In the previous days, an unexpected change had occurred. It hadn't been the time spent together, he felt, but with how many times his heart unexpectedly leapt to playful remarks. Or a laugh that gave him the feeling of bees in his belly.

Keith felt himself grinning. He did not try to hide it. "So, a telescope, huh?"

"Yeah," Lance nodded. He patted the ledge. "I was gonna take it by the Bay, see the stars. There was supposed to be a whole garden out here," he gestured to rest of the terrace.

Keith saw Lance's eyes go wet and glossy. Tears did not fall.

"I wasted so much time focused on the...future," Lance shook a hand up, hung his head in shame. "I couldn't even handle the present."

Lance had blindly strove for his best. He was understandably angry with himself, and his ridiculously high goals. Keith didn't feel right, standing before the other as a guy in fighter class. What if he was a painful reminder?

"You don't have to look at me like that," Lance spoke Keith's inner commentary. Sometimes he knew too many terrible truths. "This was me. I did this to me."

"Lance," Keith started.

"Stop blaming yourself," Lance interrupted, stern. "Whatever happened to you in the past, you know it's not your fault."

A little sting blossomed in Keith's nose, and he scrunched it to stave an influx of tears. He didn't do emotional performances. He was in charge of them. Lance was right, though. Anger and isolation was his method for dealing with the accident, and it had been treating him wrongly.

Out with the truth. "I.. Last year," Keith swallowed, composing himself briefly. "I had to stop talking to ghosts. I had to stop helping them."

Lance appraised him with soft eyes.

"My foster—my mom, she, uh, passed away when I was twelve," Keith said. "After that, it'd just been Shiro and I.. I saw her, though, after that. She'd visit me, she'd talk to me, and my dad didn't wanna hear it anymore. He was pretty sporadic after that."

"How long?"

"Years," Keith glanced at Lance, and he  was quiet, listening. "He came back last year, just out of the blue, and he tells me...he wants to speak to mom. Guess he'd started believing. It only took years," he shook his head at the glittering buildings ahead. "I told him, sometimes it didn't work that way."

Once a dam broke, it was impossible to stop. Keith's head throbbed again, and he sniffed. "So, Shiro tagged along. We were at our apartment, and I burned the sage. I reached out, and I knew it was wrong," he clenched his jaw, "When I tasted blood. I wasn't thinking straight, and I-I brought the wrong ghost. It was so violent, Lance, it.. it attacked my brother."

"Keith," Lance reached a hand to his own. He caught himself before their fingertips could meet, frowning.

"He left again," Keith's voice was stuffed. He let out a long exhale. "Dad stopped talking to me for a long time. God, I don't know how Shiro could forgive me after that."

"I'm so sorry, Keith," Lance whispered. It was then that Keith looked at the spirit on his side, and suddenly, it was as if he knew.

Keith's nose was tinted pink from the cold. His cheeks looked wet. "Your sister wouldn't really sign those papers, would she?"

"I don't know," Lance folded his arms, shrugging weakly with a frown. "I hope not.. It won't even matter if I don't wake up soon. My brain activity's decreasing every day."

Lance was a charm to Keith, a spell. He yearned for his smile. "Maybe that's not such a bad thing," he sneered in attempt of lightheartedness. "You're kind of a smartass."

A laugh broke from Lance's throat, and Keith thought it was the best thing he could hear. Keith's heart suddenly felt too big for the cage of his chest.

"Really, maybe you'll wake up a wackjob like me."

Lance tilted his head, shaking it and staring with something bordering admiration. "You're not a wackjob, Keith. You're just paranoid. Cute, but paranoid."

Keith felt his cheeks go hot, and he grinned fuller, uncharacteristically. "Thank you," his smile waned. "I wasn't always like this, you know."

Falling for Lance McClain sounded like a recipe for disaster.

"What were you like?" Lance asked, radiant against the city night.

But a troubled heart like Keith's could not be controlled. "Come on," he said, stepping away from the ledge. "I want to show you something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (•̀ᴗ•́)و ah, so you noticed this is a whopper of a chapter compared to the last, eh?
> 
> you simply can't finish this chapter without listening to [this.](https://youtu.be/LmJFxUegONQ)
> 
> as always, your comments and reviews mean the world to me! happy holidays, and i hope to see you next time! ♥


	5. can you see the stars in san francisco?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith meets Lance's sister. The clock is ticking!

Keith loved the thrilling vertigo of racing across San Francisco's steep hills. Tonight, though, was different. He had a reason to go steady, he had a surprise. Keith kind of enjoyed seeing Lance on edge with excitement in the passenger side.

"Is it a haunted house?" Lance asked, zero hint of belief in his own question.

"No," Keith answered with a smile.

Russian Hill was quiet, and he liked it. In a few hours the sidewalks would be spilling over with tourists and locals, shopping in the department stores and boutiques around the square. Cable cars would file up and down, shop windows would light up, and long lines of cars would pack up streets, as per usual.

The time now was two-thirty in the morning, and calm reigned over the roads. Storefronts were dark, and even late-night lushes had called it a night by then. The streetlights were green all the way. Keith felt exhilarated at the idea of driving all the way out to the shores of the Bay, where he recalled a spot that had once taken a special place in his heart.

When Keith was seven, he'd been taken to the shores of the San Francisco Bay. Shiro would unload the telescope from the trunk of the family car and together, they'd run to the end of the pier just outside the bayside cafe their family often went to. It was way past closing hours, and the sky was as dark as it could get, away from urban light polluting from the city. The Golden Gate Bridge sparkled with a calm only he knew how to admire. In the summer, they'd pack pb and j's. In winter, hot cocoa. Their mom would adjust the telescope, and their dad would rotate the wrinkled sky map over and over with a befuddled look on his face. Their mom would point to the eyepiece, and Keith and Shiro would butt heads over who got to steal the first look. "What's that?" she would ask, and he'd ogle the blue giants until he formed the constellations to memory. Keith missed those days.

By ten minutes tops, they had made it to the edge of the Bay.

"I really forget how jurassic that bridge is," Lance said, admiring the way the Golden Gate Bridge span over the ocean in all its steel-spoked splendor through the windshield. He had a perfect view of the sea just outside his window. 

"You mean gigantic," Keith said as the mustang coasted Marine Drive. He steered the car off road, over the gravelly joggers' trail. The only thing separating them from the ocean was the inch-high ledge bordering the runway of San Francisco's shorelines.

"You know what I mean," Lance groused childishly, perking up in his seat as they parked by the bayside cafe. "Are we here?" he asked, and then took notice of how desolate it was. "Are we supposed to be here?"

"Aren't you supposed to be the adventurous one?" Keith joked, offing the ignition.

 _Warming Hut Cafe,_  painted in bold black on a sign nailed to the coffeehouse. It was an old cafe, decked with aged white clapboards and not at all different since Keith had last visited. It'd been a while.

"You ready?" Keith asked, and Lance shot him a look.

"Am I?" Lance stepped through the vehicle.

Keith heard him whooping with muffled joy outside, watched him pump his fists overhead as he faced the ocean. He followed soon after popping the trunk of the car and retrieving old objects of the past.

"Ah, it's so dark out," Lance was looking up at the sky. "City light hardly reaches. Man, it'd be great if.." Keith cleared his throat with a guttural _ahum,_ and he turned around.

Lance went wide-eyed at Keith, pointing at the telescope in his hands with a grin so broad he could barely speak. "Is that a..?"

Keith felt himself sneering, and he sprinted to the pier without a word, Lance dashing after. Keith huffed chilly air as he set up the tripod. If he hadn't forgotten just how cold it got around this time of year, he would've brought blankets—coffee, even. For both of them, if Lance hadn't been in his current state. That was another intrusive thought Keith refused to bother with for the moment. Lance had asked to see what he was like, what he had once loved. It was hard to imagine it'd been this long that Keith had neglected his own interests, until Lance had prompted the question from him. He picked the telescope up from by his ankles and mounted it over the tripod, tilting it on its axis and hiking the legs up for a better view.

"I can't believe you did this," Lance was by his side, staring up into the open night. "So, you just come here regularly, trespasser?"

"I did," Keith said, peering into the scope and adjusting the focus. "I came here with my family all the time."

"Oh," Lance said. The only sound for a moment was the swoosh of the tide eddying against the pier. "When was the last time..?"

"Shiro and I stopped going maybe three years back," Keith looked up from the eyepiece, met Lance's gentle gaze again. God, he thought his heart would get tired of jumping every time he saw that look. "I stopped going by myself last year."

"Why?" Lance asked, and Keith dropped his gaze, shrugging his jacket closer.

"Cause I was alone," Keith said. "That's why."

Lance furrowed his brows apologetically, and Keith shook his head, smiling in lieu of his own apology. Lance did nothing wrong by his curiosity. It was probably second nature to him. Keith moved to allow Lance easier access to the telescope.

"Seeing it like this, on an open night," Keith looked admiringly up at the sky. "It's something that has to be shared. You just don't get to see stuff like this from a balcony."

"I'll say," Lance laughed, eyeing the sky through the scope. "Oh, wow, Keith, it's—wow. They're so close."

Keith grinned. "You see the shape?"

"Yeah, yeah!"

"Yeah, that's—"

"Aquarius!" Lance chirped, looking up and blinking at a saucer-eyed Keith. His lips pulled into a trademark smirk. "I know my constellations, Keith."

As sure as the sky held the moon, Lance was something that Keith did not want to share. Not because he knew his stars, but the thrill he always brought with his firecracker personality.

After hours of stargazing, he could feel how evident it was that what once was an oil and vinegar relationship had easily spiraled into something more, something miraculous that made him remember why he did the things he did in the past and question why he ever stopped. A companionable silence had fallen between them before Lance spoke up again.

"So," Lance said, and Keith blinked his attention back to him, swallowing a lump in his throat. "If you liked the stars so much, why aren't you up there with them?"

"You mean, like an astronaut?" Keith gave a huff of a laugh, registering Lance as serious only a moment after. "Why aren't you?"

"Okay, you did not just answer my question with a question," Lance crossed his arms. "But for your information, being a pilot's all I've ever wanted to do," he lifted his gaze to a bleary sky for a moment, "I guess it's the closest I can be to the stars without being too far from my family... You?"

Keith pondered on that. Unlike Lance, he didn't necessarily have too much to look back on. Shiro was his own man now, with his own life, and his father had become quite the stranger. If he traveled so far, he feared he wouldn't be missed, much as his Shiro might argue otherwise. He chose to be a pilot, because he wanted to stay. Not for family but obligation.

"I have a job here besides wanting to be a pilot, you know," Keith said, flashing a wane smile. "You're kind of a handful."

"Right, right. Sorry," Lance's grin looked apologetic.

"It's fine," Keith stole a frigid breath.

Lance cocked his head slightly. Keith perked an eyebrow.

"Doesn't it...make you sad?" Lance winced a little. "When they leave?"

"I'm used to it," Keith said, but he suspected Lance's curiosity piquing. "Why?"

The low tide sprayed against the decks ever so lightly, and Lance looked down as speckles of water splashed clear through his ankles. He looked lost a moment, and then shrugged. "I just don't wanna say goodbye. Not yet."

Keith was staring now. They were different, weren't they? Keith was troubled and harsh and hopeless. He had a personality that scratched like barbs. Lance was none of those things, and that repaired Keith greatly. No one was comparable to Lance's spirit, and nothing was equal to the braveness in his smiles or the integrity in his eyes. Lance was a flower of hope amongst weeds, and he had lived life with an envious amount of certainty. He felt tame around his spirit.

Keith inched his hand forward. He stopped just as quickly. Lance was also untouchable.

Lance's eyes flitted to Keith, then his hand. He did not mention it, and instead lifted his gaze skyward. Keith did so, too.

Ensembles of stars twinkled above, and amongst cosmos and cosmos, Keith wished for a miracle. One day, maybe he and Lance could join together like this again. And Lance would be a touch away, as he should be. He glanced his way again, lucky Lance was so charmed with the sky that he could not see he was the receiver of the exact same look.

Lance's face flickered sadly, but it was soon revived with a smile. "Wow," he whispered as the night bled a star across San Francisco's skyline. "What a joy it must've been to experience something like this."

Keith sniffed, the tip of his nose pink and runny. "Yeah, it was," his smile waned.

Lance turned, facing him once again. He quirked his head in that way Keith had easily grown fond of. "Is it gonna be again?"

"Sure," Keith said with a shrug, lacking the surety.

Lance stuck out a hand. "Promise?" And Keith's heart suddenly felt too big for his chest.

Keith unpocketed a hand, inching it to Lance's just so slightly, as not to slip through.

Their palms brushed, and a warmth, a glow blossomed between their hands—a tingly sensation. They locked eyes then, each sporting a quizzical look before the loud chime of Keith's phone broke the silence between them.

They retracted at once, Lance returning his attention to the sky in a rushed manner and Keith patting his pockets until he fished his phone out, answering with a swipe.

"Uh, hello?" Keith glanced at the time. Six, already!

"Oh, you're awake," Pidge sighed on the end of the line. "Listen, Keith, we've got some bad news."

Keith glanced at Lance, stepping aside and turning his back on him before inquiring. "What kind of news?"

"My dad just got off the phone with the family of the guy who owns the sublet," a door clicked on Pidge's end, and her voice quieted some. "They wanna give us a longer lease."

"How long?"

"Really long! The previous tenant's in some kind of coma, or something. They're gonna pull the plug and," the frantic energy Pidge's voice died quickly. "We need to meet. If you really wanna help your guy, Keith.."

Keith stole a wary glance over his shoulder, pained to see Lance's once wonderstruck eyes squinting at him disconcertedly.

"Stop by around the afternoon," Keith said. "We'll think of something."

Pidge sighed. "I'm sorry, Keith."

He ended the call with a tap, and Lance lifted his chin in question. "What?"

Keith pocketed his phone and, whip-fast, packed the telescope and tripod in his arms. A tomorrow without Lance had to be an impossibility.

"We gotta go talk to your sister," Keith said.

"Why? What are you gonna say to her?" Lance asked.

"I don't know," Keith started for the car, glancing back at him. "What kinda dirt do you have on her?"

 

\---

"Oh! Her middle name's Yvonne. But in the third grade, she told everyone it was Leia," Lance squinted at the rising sun outside the passenger window. "Y'know, like Princess Leia?"

"Yeah, I'm familiar with it. But...no," Keith overlooked the traffic that had annoyingly built in the morning. "What else?"

"Uhhh," Lance slumped. "She's lactose intolerant?"

"Alright, look," Keith said. "The only way this is gonna work is if I can tell her something only you know. Something deep, something personal."

"Oh," Lance deflated, and then, with a gasp, shot up. "Ooh! She French-kissed her ex-boyfriend, Roland, like, five minutes before her wedding!"

Wow. Keith's eyes widened a fraction, mouth crooking approvingly. "That'll work. That's good."

"Nobody knows that!" Lance chirped, sounding proud.

"You know what, I think I like her already."

After minutes of painstaking bumper-to-bumper traffic, Keith had rung the doorbell of a quaint home atop a steep, red-brick staircase. He felt like darting off when meeting Lori face-to-face. It felt like an invasion of privacy to enter her home, even if it was for Lance's sake. She answered the door to him with her hair mussed in a thick, curly bun and sported a contagiously sweet smile as if they were neighbors. Her welcome had quicksilvered to something sorrowful at the mention of her brother, and she'd led Keith inside.

"So, how did you know Lance?" Lori asked over her shoulder. "Did you go to school together?"

They entered an open-plan kitchen and living room through the foyer, and she went to package some groceries left on the island counter into the fridge. Keith shrugged in his coat while Lance took a little spin in the middle of the living room behind him. He looked like he was getting a feel for the place all over again.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, we did. And this might be a little difficult to hear, but, uh," Keith rubbed his hands together, and just as he did, a pair of squealing kids sprinted from upstairs and towards a pastel-colored little tikes table arranged with a tea set by the kitchenette.

Lance gasped behind Keith. "The kids are here? They're supposed to be at school," his eyes flickered with worry towards the medium. "Keith.."

"Would you like some tea, sir?" A little girl waddled up to Keith, pinching his glove and pulling him to their arranged tea party.

She feigned an excellent English accent, and Keith's mouth quirked with amusement. He may not have openly been a kids person, but how could he refuse?

"I, well, uh, yes," Keith haphazardly played an accent himself, squatting awkwardly into a kiddy chair. "Thank you, madam."

"Keith, abort! Abort!" Lance immediately followed, taking the empty chair beside his nephew, Brandon, who was already invested in an m&m cookie. "Don't do this in front of them. It'll freak 'em out!"

"I'm sorry, you were saying?" Lori patted her hands on the floral apron tied around her waist, attentive towards Keith again. "How did you know him?"

"Lie! Lie your butt off!" Lance snapped in Keith's ear.

"We were together," Keith answered and heard Lance facepalm. _What?_ Keith thought. That was technically not a lie. They do go to the same university. They've just missed each other.

"Together?" Lori asked.

"I mean, not together-together," Keith felt a sweat breaking behind his collar. "We worked together in clinicals, is what I mean."

Lance scoffed, shaking his head at the lazy acting. When he rolled his eyes, he shockingly locked gazes with his niece, Aubrey, across the play table. She gave a kittenish smile, patting the pink frills of her tutu.

"Aubrey?" Lance asked, leaning forward in. She was staring right at him. "Can you see me, Aubrey?"

Aubrey scooted out of her chair without another breath, skipping back to the kitchen and around the island.

"We were really hard at work," Keith babbled on, feeling as though he'd pass out by the way he reddened with each lie. "Studying, studying diseases common in flight practice...and among pilots."

"Oh?" Lori leaned her hip against the countertop, lifting a coffee mug to her face. "What kind of diseases?"

"Spiral meningitis," Keith blurted.

"Spiral meningitis?" Lance scoffed. "That's not even a thing."

Lori gasped anyway, and Lance looked as though he had lost a little faith in his sister's knowledge for buying that hunk of bull.

"Yeah, we really bonded, I guess," Keith laughed weakly. "He, um, believed in me, and it, um...It motivated me like nothing else."

"That sounds just like him," Lori had a smile on her face, but her eyes stayed melancholy. "But, why are you telling me this?"

"Because," Keith shifted awkwardly in the little chair, knees bumping against each other. "I know about his situation."

Lance sighed as Keith waffled on, and then watched as Aubrey skipped back to the table, bearing cookies. She placed one in the little plate before Keith, and then she placed a cookie in the plate before Lance. Aubrey scooted back in her chair, and the spirit gawked at the treat before him. "Aubrey," his eyebrows shot up as he leaned forward again. "You know I'm here, don't you?"

Aubrey munched her cookie casually, glancing at him before returning to her cup of tea. Keith exchanged odd glances with Lance in the middle of his babbling to Lori, briefly attentive to what he was saying before standing.

"So," Keith stood. "I just wanted to ask you—ah, actually, I wanted to beg you...not to sign those papers."

The nature of Lori's manner shifted. She set her coffee mug down, chewing her underlip and waiting for him to elaborate.

"He's gonna pull through this thing. I just know it," Keith said.

"That's really sweet of you to say, but," Lori assessed Keith with tired eyes. Her voice wobbled in a way that made Keith's stomach tight with fear. "It's kind of already too late."

"Lori," Lance whimpered from behind, standing from his place at the kid's table and marching to Keith and his sister. "Lori, what did you do?"

A muscle in Keith's jaw jumped to the hurt evident in Lance's voice. He glanced worriedly at Lance before turning back to Lori, unable to fight down a feeble bite to his voice. "What—What do you mean?"

"I..." Lori brushed a stray curl from the frame of her face. "It's too late, because we've already signed the papers."

Everything in the kitchen narrowed to a point. Keith could scarcely breathe.

"Oh, no, Lori. I'm right here. Can't you feel me? I'm right here," Lance's voice broke as he begged beside his sister.

Keith had never seen the dead in this light. Come to think of it, he'd never seen a living being in this light, either. But the dead did not chase after life. Certainly not after they were able to bid their final farewells. They felt peace and reassurance with a new future unknown. Lance, Keith could see, did not find solace in the idea of the unknown. Lance clung strongly to his life and family. Judging from what Keith had seen, he had every reason to.

"We're terminating life support tomorrow afternoon, while the kids are still in school," Lori seemed to swallow a lump in her throat, hazel eyes going misty. "It's just, the past three months have been so hard on them, this whole family.."

"I-I get that," Keith's voice shook some against his own will. "I do, but I think you're making a really big mistake here, because I really think—"

"It's for the best," Lori waved her hand weakly. "You have to understand what it's been like every day. Our own mother, she wakes up every day feeling like her own life has ended since his accident. Really. I mean, this is what Lance would've wanted..."

Lance's gaze went heavy to the floor, wilted.

"He wouldn't want his life to be this, to be lying there, unresponsive to the world." Lori shook her head. "It's just, it's not living. You know, he tried so hard for himself, even for this family. And we were so ignorant to that. I was. And now, I have to respect this decision, that he may find peace."

A numbness like needles pressed itself into Keith.

"Okay, this is gonna sound really strange to you—"

Lance, wide-eyed, returned his attention to Keith. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no."

"—but the truth is, Lance is here with us right now. And he standing right next to me," Keith gestured to Lance, where there was empty space to Lori. "And he's begging you not to do this."

Lori blinked wet eyes twice in a slow succession, lips barely parting. "Right next to me?"

"Right here," Keith gestured again.

"Keith, stop," Lance said, stern.

"No, let me do this," Keith shot him a look.

Lori glanced in that same direction, a brow pinched.

"Look, the truth is, I'm a medium," Keith continued. "And I'm here to help _him_ to get _you_ to not take him off life support. I know it sounds crazy, but I'm gonna help him talk to you. And we're gonna explain the whole thing, okay?"

Lori's lips became a taut, firm line before she spoke again, eyes glassy. "Could, could you hold on just a sec?" she lifted a finger, striding past Keith and to the children's table, where she bent to their level, perk renewed in her voice. "Okay, tea party's over, kids. Let's go put on some Spongebob!"

Lance's niece and nephew jumped from their chairs with loud whoops, skipping past the hall with their tutus bouncing along.

Keith walked aside and turned to Lance while the children were ushered into another room, mimicking their cry and fist-pumps, subvocal. "See, this is great!"

"Yeah, I know," Lance's arms were folded, and he looked genuinely astonished. "You need to get her to the hospital."

"Right, okay," Keith nodded as Lori half-walked, half-sprinted into the kitchen. She looked like her heels were on fire as his eyes followed her next frantic action in drawing a butcher knife from it's block.

"Get the hell outta here, you freak!" Lori screeched, and Keith went tumbling into the little tike table.

"Oh my God, Lori!" Lance squeaked. He bounced foot to foot as Lori shuffled towards Keith, waving the kitchen knife at him with zero grace.

Keith was backed into the kitchenette, saucer-eyed. He could hardly string a sensible plea in the face of the knife, waving in attempt for Lori to put it down. "I'm not making this up!" he rasped. "Why would I?!"

"Lori, calm down!" Lance stood between Keith and his sister, though it had zero effect when she couldn't even see him in the first place. "Calm down!"

"I'll chop you!" Lori swung the butcher knife, verging on a howl. "I SWEAR, I WILL CHOP YOU!"

Lance's eyes cut to Keith very quickly. "Tell her about Roland!"

"I-I know about Roland," Keith pointed a finger, brows up.

Lori's head quirked. "What?"

"I know what you did with Roland on your wedding night, and I'll tell everybody!"

Lori's eyes, manic and big as saucers, looked to the ground a hot second.

"Keith..." Lance started.

Lori lifted the knife again, and she started chasing after Keith. "HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?"

Keith definitely could not hear her squawking questions over the sound of his own screams, being chased out the door and all. Lance ran in suit of him as he sprinted out like the madman Lori was accusing him of being.

"Get outta here!" Lori followed him halfway down the entry hall. "Get going! Out, out!"

The door slammed shut behind Keith as he fled the house like a bat out of hell. After a moment, Lori gasped and bent over to catch her breath quickly. She returned to the kid's playroom once sure her guest had left, fingers sorting the strands that'd come loose from her bun as she opened the door just enough.

"You kids alright?" Lori asked.

Aubrey, nestled a pillow on the floor, looked up from the television. "Mommy, is Uncle Lance gonna have more tea?"

An extended silence followed before Lori swallowed around the tightness in her throat. "What?"

 

\---

Across the street from the row of painted lady houses, Lance waited at the peak of a hill. The grass below stretched to the eyes reach of the park ahead, picnics and families scattered among shallow hills.

"Wow," Keith joined his side, puffing a frazzled breath and flapping his coat. "I guess it's safe to say your sister's not a very spiritual person."

"She's just being a good mom," Lance shook his head. "Keeping her kids away from a crazy guy.. I looked up to her, y'know. Wanted to follow in her footsteps." He shrugged, eyes not leaving the park.

Keith figured Lance's use of the past tense was his relinquishment on hope, even if the thought made him sick. The chances were growing slimmer and slimmer, and Keith wasn't quite sure how much longer he could stay reassuring. He hadn't been familiar with loss in years. He'd had it with his mother, he'd nearly endured it with his brother, and he'd vowed to himself that he would never let someone get close enough to let that seem like a plausible fear.

But that hadn't exactly worked out, had it?

In a number of days, he'd formed a bond with Lance that was irrefutable. It hadn't even been on purpose, and Keith didn't think it would've been a problem when taking the obvious into consideration. Lance was everything he was not, and maybe that was a good thing.

"Well, you got the crazy paranoid thing down," Keith tried for a chuckle, but it tumbled out dryly.

Lance rolled his eyes, biting a weak smile. "Thanks."

"No, I mean it," Keith's gaze trained back to him. "You would've been great."

Lance lifted a eyebrow.

"In fighter class, I mean," Keith emphasized. "You really worked your ass off, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Lance's gaze fell to the park. "And here I am."

Keith, unable to quit, scoffed and shook his head. "Ah, c'mon. This—This can't be it," he pocketed his hands, waving out his coat in Lance's direction. "We can't stop here, you know that."

"Keith—"

"No, listen to me," Keith said. "We can go to the hospital, Lance. I-I can talk to that asshole, Sendak, right?"

"No one'll listen," Lance said.

"Your niece!" Keith gestured back at the house. "Aubrey. She saw you, didn't she?"

"Yeah, great," Lance laughed bitterly. "Me and seven other of her imaginary friends."

"We can't give up yet," Keith countered again. He didn't know how to give up. In fact, he refused to let that sit in his mind as an option. It's then that he remembered his phone call just that morning. "Pidge!"

"Pidge?"

"She called earlier, saying she wanted to meet up."

"When?"

"This afternoon," Keith said.

Lance's mouth formed a big 'o', and he sputtered, bopping a hand over his head. "And this just flew your mind how?!"

"Oh, I don't know," Keith flashed a mock smile. "Must've escaped me while I was being chased around by a woman with a butcher knife!"

"Point made," Lance conceded. "And Pidge?"

"I think she might have an idea on how to fix this," Keith turned without further explanation, starting towards the mustang.

"What're you gonna tell her?" Lance sprinted after him, and like that, the eager tune to his voice was back.

"Everything," Keith said.

 

\---

On the car drive over, Keith had taken the time to steal furtive glances Lance's way in his final attempt to fashion together the reasons why he should resist falling for the guy. He couldn't now, for the life of him, denote Lance's characteristics as something to turn away from. Lance was unfiltered, sure, and clumsy from what Keith witnessed, but—he was also unconditionally selfless with a heart too grand for his own good. He'd worked himself like a machine for the sake of impressing and living up to expectations set so high. And Keith, well, he couldn't do any of that without force of reason. That could be a testament as to how different the two of them were from each other.

Keith turned the lock in the entry door of the loft. On arrival, the noise of the television increased as he and Lance entered the living room.

From the couch and club chair, Hunk and Pidge had been seated, exchanging idle conversation before acknowledging Keith's presence the moment he entered. It appeared they'd let themselves in. Funny, a few days, and Keith had almost forgotten he was the guest himself.

"Took you long enough," Pidge rotated her body, resting her forearms on the back of the couch. "Listen—"

Keith raised a half-gloved hand to stop her, the keys between his fingers jingling.

Pidge raised an eyebrow. "What is..?"

"He's with me right now," Keith said.

"Whoa, you mean here? Right now?" Hunk gripped the arms of the chair he'd been sitting in, fixing his posture.

"Relax, Hunk," Pidge glanced back at him. "Keith said he's completely harmless."

"On a good day," Lance laughed behind Keith.

"We need a plan," Keith eyed Lance briefly. Hunk and Pidge exchanged a vacant look. "I just came back from his sister's house, actually."

"Oh, what'd she say?" Pidge scooted off the couch, standing attentively.

Keith's mouth twisted into an frown. "There...may have been a slight misunderstanding."

"Oh, slight," Lance walked over to the alcove window, and Keith coughed an awkward chuckle. 

"Ohhh, no, you dropped the _'I see dead people'_ thing on her, didn't you?" Hunk let his hands fly up. "Dude, that never goes over smoothly the first time."

"Yeah, Hunk thought you were a real nut for that one," Pidge quipped, rocking on her sneakers.

"Pidge. Not helping," Hunk said.

"Right, sorry," Pidge tilted her head as Keith strode over to where Lance was, unseeing of the spirit. "What kind of misunderstanding are we talking about here?"

"This'll be good," Lance took a seat at the window, folding his arms and crossing one knee over the other. He looked a mix of smug and angry, resilient to speaking further.

Keith sighed. "As in, when I spilled the word about...you know," he rolled a hand. "She completely lost it."

"As in?" Hunk tented his hands over his stomach.

"She chased me out the house with a butcher knife," Keith deadpanned.

Not a peep came from Pidge or Hunk for a solid moment.

"Sorry about that," Pidge said finally. She sighed, adjusting her round spectacles. "But we're ready to do something about it if you are. If they pull the plug, who knows what'll happen to this guy! He could stay here forever, for all we know."

"No," Keith said. "I do know, and he wouldn't. He'd be gone." He felt a worm of sickness in his gut at the prospect, at simply saying those words.

"Right," Hunk weighed in, crossing over to the coffee table. He knelt over and picked up the useless books Keith had checked out from Rolo. "And we don't want that to happen. We just—hey." Something seemed to catch his eye.

Something, as in the frame of Lance's hospital photo of him and Lori—they were both in a dim restaurant, respective drinks raised in hand. Lance's face was flushed with the exuberance of a night out in town, face cracked into an open-mouthed grin that made his eyes lid into crescents. He was so lovely and lively. It was just how Keith wanted to remember him, in case they had to part their ways forever.

So, he'd stolen it.

Lance leaned forward with interest, watching incredulously as Hunk picked up and scrutinized the picture.

"Where did you get that?" Lance inquired softly, looking from Hunk to Keith. "It was in my hospital room."

Robbed of words, Keith felt himself go red as Hunk passed the frame to Pidge. Her eyes widened a fraction before she turned the photo for Keith to view. "Why do you have Lance's picture?"

"I..I took it," Keith felt guilty of a crime he very much did commit. His eyes returned to Lance, and Hunk and Pidge's gazes followed confusedly. "I'm sorry. I just, I wanted to have a picture of you.. I wasn't sure if I was ever gonna see you again," he lifted a hand up and let it fall back to his side, smiling defeatedly. "I'm sorry."

Tears kept at bay twinkled over Lance's eyes. "Don't be," he said wetly, sniffing and staring at the photo as Pidge set it back on the table slowly. He rubbed his nose. "That's really nice. I really like that picture."

Keith felt his heart go large then, ignorant of the uncertain glances Hunk and Pidge exchanged, looking like they were intruding in on something.

"Wait," Pidge said slowly, looking across the loft again as if she was seeing it for the first time. "The ghost in our apartment...is Lance?!"

"Does that make a difference to you?" Keith asked.

"Well, yeah!" Hunk joined in, raising his hands. "I mean, we wouldn't want him to die either way, but this guy's our—I mean, he's kind of our friend!"

"My dad never tells me anything!" Pidge exclaimed heatedly.

"Either way, we gotta figure out how to put a halt on this," Hunk said, indicating to Lance's spot. "I don't want anything happening to him."

"Neither do I," Pidge folded her arms.

Keith glanced to Lance, who stayed staring at his hospital photo. "Then we've gotta find someone who believes he's alive," he lifted his gaze to the others. "As much as we do."

"Right," Pidge nodded, then shooting Hunk the same look from earlier and elbowing his side gently. "Then we better make some calls."

"Uh!" Hunk blinked down at her, then to Keith. "Right, right. And we'll be up extra early. We'll go down to the hospital, all of us. You hear that, Lance?" He looked up to the ceiling, and the spirit sitting beside Keith laughed.

"Loud and clear, buddy," Lance said.

"You can count on us, Lance," Pidge said, looking directly at the spot Keith had spoken to earlier. "I'm gonna talk to my dad. We'll put a halt on this."

After that, the two said their goodbyes and promised for a meet-up tomorrow morning. Time was running excruciatingly low. They all knew the stakes.

Keith returned to the alcove window after Hunk and Pidge took their leave. He sat down beside Lance, who was still fixed on the photo sitting on the coffee table.

"I'd just gotten my qualifications scores on joining fighter class," Lance said. He rubbed at his nose with a knuckle.

"Must've gone well," Keith glanced his way, and Lance laughed shortly.

"No, actually. I bombed. My scores were so low, it was a wonder on how I was even a cargo pilot."

"And you celebrated?"

"No," Lance shook his head, grinning. He sniffed a little, and the look he sent Keith's way made the medium's heart still. "I wanted to go back to the library and start studying immediately, but Lori said no," his smile went tepid. "So we burned my scores and, ah, drowned my sorrow in cheesecake."

"Yeah?" Keith smirked.

Lance ducked his head, squinting in an innocent way that Keith found equally charming. "And maybe snuck me a margarita or two."

"Looks like it did the trick," Keith picked up the picture again, an ache ballooning in his chest. The snapshot was the happiest he'd seen Lance, and yet, he wasn't even in the picture to begin with. "You look happy."

"I was happy," Lance nodded, and then his easy smile vanished. "But what was I doing with the rest of my time?"

Keith's insides buzzed. He'd become accustomed to seeing that painfully wondrous look on Lance's face. When Lance let his head fall, Keith saw evidence of it on his features. He looked lonely.

"When I think about my life, and I... All I remember now is working. Working and working, and trying so hard," Lance's voice broke again, but he remained composed as an unrelenting dam. He wiped at his eyes, puddled at the corners with tears. "And for what?"

"Your dream," Keith reached out, placing his hand by Lance's leg. He never grew used to being unable to touch Lance. And he wasn't even a touchy-feely guy. "You said it yourself."

"I know," Lance gave a small nod, locking a tired gaze on Keith. "And I worked so hard, just because I thought it would pay off later. I just...I didn't think there wouldn't be a later."

"Don't say that," Keith said. "There's still time. We're gonna go see your sister again tomorrow, at the hospital."

"I just don't wanna spend my last night crying," Lance ignored his assurances, shaking his head. "Or fighting my fate."

This couldn't be it, Keith thought, clutching at his knees. He'd never been an optimist, but it hurt more hearing Lance talk as if there wasn't a future left for him, like the fight was leaving him entirely. Fate would be cruel if it robbed Keith of him.

"I wanna do something with you," Lance said at last, and Keith tore his eyes from his lap, bleary-eyed.

"Okay," Keith blinked away the intrusive thoughts, standing. He felt more ready than ever to simply run anywhere with Lance. "Okay, great. What do you want to do? Fly to Paris?"

Lance laughed meekly.

"See the Eiffel Tower?" Keith continued. "No, I'm serious. Dance on a beach in Bali? Let's go, let's do it. Anywhere!"

Lance wrinkled his nose, an incredulous little smile on his face as he rubbed his wet cheeks.

"Anywhere," Keith said again, and the spirit lifted his head attentively.

"There is...something I'd like to do."

"Anything."

A stifling silence passed between them before a sigh escaped Lance, and he let his head fall into an open palm. His cheeks flushed faintly underneath his fingers. "Ugh," he winced. "I am so bad at this."

"What?" Keith asked and sidled next to him in the alcove again. "What is it?"

And Lance lifted his gaze, and he looked at him. There was nothing Keith couldn't be persuaded to do with him.

 

\---

The last rays of sunset bled through the sheer curtains of the bedroom's window, bathing over the wrought iron headboard and painting Lance and Keith's bodies in an amber glow. They laid on their sides, facing each other with a mere foot between them. The corners of Lance's mouth lifted in a shy smile.

"Are you nervous?" Keith asked.

"A little," Lance said.

"How can you be nervous if I can't even touch you?"

Lance's voice fell to a whisper, and he closed his eyes briefly, lashes fluttering. "I think I'm more nervous you can't touch me."

"Why?"

Keith doesn't find himself wondering about the reason why Lance is not transparent to him. It had to be interconnected somehow, but he didn't want to worry unnecessarily. His spirit was here, and yet, it felt so real. It was real.

"You know when you touched my hand in the hospital?" Lance asked, and he bit his bottom lip lightly. Keith loved that look on him. "I felt it. I mean, my spirit felt it. I don't know how," his gaze lifted to meet Keith's, endlessly blue. "But I think if you could ever really touch me...I might wake up from all of this."

And not to gild the lily, but he was something ethereal laying before Keith with that face, brown skin sun-dappled, the look on his face as warm and inviting as the descending daylight. Keith reached a hand up between them slowly, making his palm flat. Lance saw that and took the suggestion, raising his own so their hands would meet in the middle. There came the mysterious glow between their hands again; touching, but not touching. Keith felt the barely there buzz of connection.

"I can almost feel that," Keith murmured.

"Me too," Lance bent his head forward on the pillow ever so slightly, eyes flitting over Keith's face in a manner that made his heart hiccup. "I think I know what my unfinished business is."

"What?" Keith asked quietly, as to not break the spell of the moment.

"You," Lance smiled again at last, and Keith wanted nothing more at that moment than to sweep him into a romantic kiss.

They exchanged hardly anything more before Keith allowed himself to be consumed into long overdue slumber.

_He had a revelation in his sleep._

When morning light parceled into the bedroom, Keith woke with a start, the spirit's name falling from his lips tiredly. He sat up, panic pricking his chest like ice in his frantic energy. "Lance?"

Nothing.

"Lance?" Keith half-yelled.

"I'm right here," Lance's voice came from the club chair in the corner of the room, where he sat with a concerned crease between his brows.

"Oh, good, good," Keith rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, relieved. He moved to sit at the end of the bed, slipping on his shoes and lacing them up. "Because I know what I'm supposed to do, and this time, I can do something."

Lance leaned forward in his chair. "What are you talking about?"

"Lance, when we first met, I kept trying to convince you that you were dead," Keith said. "But it was me—it was me that was dead, and you brought me back. You saved me," he stood from his spot, and Lance's gaze followed. "And now it's my turn to save you."

Lance arched an eyebrow and waited for the medium to satisfy his curiosity. "How?"

Keith swallowed all his nervous energy.

"I'm gonna steal your body." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, guys! so, yes, this chapter is sooo long overdue after dealing with a little writer's block, but we're finally here. ah, keith is so in love with the boy. they're in love. we're here. (˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵) ♥️
> 
> let's just see how they work this out. comments are always appreciated!
> 
> please, come scream with me via social media!
> 
> twitter : [@peachgrdn](https://mobile.twitter.com/peachgrdn)


	6. you're just like a dream

"Keith!" Lance called. He'd had to chase him all the way down from the apartment, going ignored. "What are you thinking? You can't do this!"

_ Steal my body. Steal my body! The guy is nuts. _

"Why can't I?" Keith asked as they crossed the street. "Why not?"

"Why not!" Lance parroted on a screech. "Because you'll go to jail, that's why!"

Keith turned sharply to face him as they met the sidewalk. "So what?" he stuck his head out. "If something happens to you, you think I care where I'll be? At least it'll buy us some more time."

Keith looked so unhinged, so serious—more so than usual. For the past two weeks, he'd been Lance's single ray of hope, obliging to do the craziest things against his own morals, and now he's proposing to possibly throw his own life for him. How could he do such a thing?

With a forlorn roll of his eyes, Lance stared at Keith. "The things you'd have to know to even pull this off..."

"You know them," Keith said. "You'll talk me through them."

Saying he was scared was saying the least. Lance was petrified. He'd been watching his own body gradually withering away in the span of a week or so, lying with an IV drip to irrigate him, a feeding tube to nourish him, and a catheter to carry away his waste. He could move about all over the city, invisible, but he couldn't so much as make his own body's eyelids flutter. It was torture. And Keith was making the offer to end it.

Lance rubbed a palm to his forehead, sighing. "Okay," he lifted a stern gaze back to Keith. "You're gonna need a van."

"Right," Keith nodded.

"And...a team with absolutely no morals."

 

 

\---

 

Rolo's van practically skyrocketed up and off the sloping streets of San Francisco. Everyone but Keith and the driver himself cried out for their lives. Even in spirit, Lance felt fearful for his own.

"How does this guy even have a valid license?!" Pidge yelled. From the rearview mirror, Lance watched her clinging to a ripped leather chair for dear life, the poor thing.

Hunk braced himself against an old guitar case, fist pressed to his mouth. "Ohhh, my stomach," he groaned.

"Carsick easily?" Rolo asked from the driver's side, hiding a grin poorly.

"Very," Hunk muttered, looking to Keith desperately. "What are we getting, again?"

"Uh, medical supplies," Keith said on a whim, mistakenly exchanging glances with Lance, who was wedged between him and Rolo.

Lance narrowed his eyes to slits. "You didn't tell them?"

"Just Rolo," Keith muttered defensively.

"Just Rolo what?" Rolo asked.

"So, you just told this guy, but not my actual friends?" Lance gestured to their carsick passengers. He gave Keith a solemn, poutish look he knew would strike guilt. "You're gonna have to tell them! What do you think they're gonna do when you tell them the truth?"

"I don't know," Keith crossed his arms, brows knitting. "It's his van."

"Medical supplies," Pidge repeated from the backseat. Her voice dripped with skepticism. "Medical supplies for what?"

"For Lance?" Keith supplied, shooting a hopeful look his way. "What are you doing?"

Lance held a hard gaze over Rolo, scrutinizing his rough features. "You know, he looks really familiar to me," he glanced back at Keith. "I think I've seen him before."

"Yeah, you met him just the other night," Keith said.

"Met who the other night?" Pidge asked.

"No, before that!" Lance waved, lips pinching together. He shook his head at the memory too far to reach for. His mind was beginning to fuzz again, much to his dismay.

"Why would Lance need medical supplies?" Hunk asked. "He's in a hospital, for Pete's sake! Are we supposed to sign something for this?"

"Keith, you have to tell them," Lance said.

"Not yet," Keith shook his head.

"Not yet what?" Pidge nearly cried out this time. She leaned in her seat to assess the look on Keith's face. "Is he here right now? Are we gonna talk to his sister?"

"Aaah," Keith made dodgy eyes, shrugging his shoulders and playing dumb. "Who?"

"Wait minute," Hunk sat up. "Lance is here?!"

Rolo barked a laugh from the driver's seat. "I thought I felt a special presence," he steered their van sharp into the hospital driveway's main entrance. "Alright! Welcome back, spirit man!"

Lance slumped where he was, rolling his head on Keith's shoulder, light enough not to fall straight through him. "Spirit man," he whispered. "I kinda like it."

"Don't get used to it," Keith said, and Lance laughed.

Everyone let out another cry as they screeched into the parking garage.

 

 

\---

 

On their way in, Lance had to remind Keith that moving through a hospital was not nearly the same as moving through a supermarket. Getting out of it would be complicated, too. Moving a patient involved following a number of administrative steps, most of which Lance had hopped himself up on Redbull's to study for nightly in the past. As he spoke in Keith's ear, his instructions were repeated by him to their entire ragtag team.

They barged into a medical supply closet first.

"Okay, grab a cart," Lance instructed, following in suit of Keith.

Keith pulled the nearest one, ignorant as Hunk and Pidge watched in the meantime with worried looks written on their faces.

"We, we need a blood pressure cuff," Lance waved a finger at one shelf. "That thingy over there," he turned, scaling the array of supplies with frantic eyes. "And a portable ventilator, right there, that yellow thing."

"Keith?" Hunk asked, approaching the cart as Keith went puppeteering himself by Lance's directions.

"Not now," Keith waved, pointing to the end of the closet. "Pidge, grab that gurney! Rolo," he snapped. "Labcoats."

"Keith, what the heck!" Hunk waved frantically in front of him. "This isn't a sale, man!"

"Yeah, fess up," Pidge piped up, yet she remained by the gurney. "I thought we were gonna talk to Lori. What's going on? And tell us the truth this time."

"You guys," Keith stopped, patting the cart before him. He shot Lance a desperate look.

Lance nodded, worrying his underlip between his teeth. It truly wasn't fair to drop this upon them. They were merely occupants of the wrong loft, that's all. What a dilemma he'd pulled them all into.

"Alright," Keith sighed, looking his friends straight in the eyes. "I knew you guys wouldn't wanna come along if I told you, but Lance is here, okay? He's upstairs in a coma, and he's about to be taken off life support if we don't do something about it."

Lance looked at his shoes, wincing.

Hunk and Pidge raised their brows for him to elaborate.

"We've got to get him someplace safe," Keith said. Begged, really, if anyone could hear it in his voice.

Pidge raised a brow. "My mom works here," her suspicion had fizzled to concern. "You, you want us to kidnap him?"

"Uh. Yes," Keith nodded warily. "Yeah."

"We should've told them earlier," Lance shook his head, clutching it.

"They wouldn't have come if I had," Keith looked at him over Pidge's shoulder, and she glanced behind herself, then back at him.

"Are you kidding?" Rolo asked where he'd been leaning by the doorframe. Lance and Keith shot him a look of surprise respectively. "When's the chance to steal a body ever gonna come again?"

Hunk sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I think what he means is," he looked down at Keith and smiled. "Of course we would have."

"Yeah," Pidge said. "I mean, we love the apartment and all, but," she exchanged a look with Hunk. "It means nothing in comparison to Lance's life. You're our friend, Keith, and so is he."

Lance felt his heart go light then. How could he be so lucky? All of this, everything that had transpired recently had been the greatest wake up call of his life. How he met Keith, who was incredibly gifted and yet, the loneliest person he'd ever met. Lance had only everything to relate to in that department as of recently. He'd been amongst the world petrified, thinking he would watch himself die as his heart beat in one place and spirit existed somewhere else. And now, all of this had led to here, where there's him and Keith, and any other human being on earth willing to help him return to his life. It wasn't just luck. It was love.

"Then we need to get going," Keith looked both relieved and impatient. "It's 11:30 right now. They're pulling the plug in half an hour."

"How," Hunk glanced about himself, looking a little helpless. "How do we do this without getting caught?"

"Tell him to grab those lab coats," Lance suggested over Pidge's shoulder.

"Grab those lab coats," Keith said.

Rolo followed that, passing them down the room as he got situated in his own.

"Oh, impersonating a doctor, too," Hunk furrowed a brow. He may have been in, from what Lance saw, but he still remained dubious by the telling wrinkles in his forehead. "Keith, do you even know why you're risking all of this?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"Because, I love him!" Keith blurted, and Lance felt himself freeze, riveted by what the voice in the back of his mind already knew. He watched as Keith gripped the bars of the gurney. "I do," he nodded, and he looked right at Lance, softening. "I love you."

_ He loves me? _

"You love me?" Lance asked, eyes wide.

How world-rocking. What a privilege it was to be able to wake and see, feel, touch, and be touched. Is that why Keith was doing this? He'd take a colossal risk and this, all this beauty, all this feeling, would become accessible again to Lance? For Lance? Oh. He had it bad.

Lance found himself smiling uncontrollably. If he could only feel his heart, it'd surely be doing carnival-ride flips. "No one's ever said that to me before."

Keith returned the look just as quickly, wonderfully shy as Lance happily noted.

Hunk and Pidge exchanged the same befuddled glance behind themselves.

"Wow," Rolo chuckled. "Major red aura. Someone's blushing."

After they gathered their getaway supplies onto the gurney, the five conspirators whisked the stretcher down the hall, acting as natural as possible for attempting kidnappers.

"Thank you, guys, for helping me," Keith said, ducking his face as they kept with Lance's brisk pace.

"Don't mention it," Rolo shrugged with complete nonchalance. "'Cause believe me, one day, I'll need help moving a body. And when that day comes, I don't expect to hear any shit from you."

"Lovely," Hunk said, and Pidge snorted into the lapels of her white coat.

They entered Room 505, Lance's room. Rolo pushed the light switch and the fluorescent tubes above shimmered to life. Keith wheeled the stretcher beside Lance's bed as Hunk and Pidge waited watch outside.

"Alright, put me on the gurney," Lance instructed.

"Got it," Keith said. He gently hoisted Lance's physical body into his arms, and when he turned, Rolo was staring back at him with round eyes.

"Holy shit, Keith," Rolo said.

"I know, he's cute."

Rolo shook his head. "No, that's him!" he gestured a hand at Lance's limp body as it was set on the gurney. "That's him, that's the guy I set you up with."

"What?" Keith furrowed his brows.

"Oh, my god," Lance blinked owlishly at Rolo. "That's right."

"I was supposed to meet Lance?" Keith asked, looking right at him promptly. "I was supposed meet you?"

"And he didn't make it, either, because he had the accident," Rolo said, looking as though he'd had the most profound revelation.

"I was gonna celebrate with my sister that night," Lance whispered, eyes skirting the floor. They fell back on Rolo, and his brows lifted. "Oh, oh, that's how I know him! That's Roland!"

"Rolo's Roland?" Keith asked.

"Whoa, wait, no one's called me Roland since high school," Rolo stuck a hand out.

"He's a little harrier, but it's him," Lance pointed out happily.

"He's the one who tongued Lori at the wedding?"

"Okay, how do you know that?" Rolo looked right at Lance as if he could see him. "Nobody's supposed to know that."

"Cat's outta the bag, I guess," Lance shrugged, grinning.

"Ah," Rolo blinked away his surprise, gesturing to the gurney. "Well, let's get him on the gurney, then! I don't want them killing Lori's little brother."

They gently hoisted Lance's body onto the stretcher. Keith draped blankets over him, unhooked the IV bag from its pole and looped it over a hook above his head.

"Be really gentle," Lance did a slight wave beside them. Sadly, in his case, he'd been around long enough to see his body nursed on an humiliating amount of times. "My lungs don't function properly on their own, so plug me with the ventilator."

Outside the hospital room, a cell phone ringer went off, making Keith and Rolo seize their actions. A gravelly voice answered it outside, and Lance felt a ghostly chill. Sendak.

"It's Sendak," he whispered, though it wasn't necessary in his case.

Keith checked the time on the bedside clock. "He's fifteen minutes early," he hissed. "Where's Hunk and Pidge?"

From behind the door, Lance eavesdropped.

"Soon as the family's here, we're ready," Sendak said, and Lance went nauseous.

"He's coming in," Rolo whispered.

"I'll handle it," Keith said, tapping the gurney. "Watch him."

Lance followed Keith outside, where Sendak was being distracted by Hunk and Pidge's nervous babbling. Some lookout they were.

"Dr. Sendak?" Keith stepped between their two sweaty conspirators and the bulkier doctor.

"Careful, Keith," Lance said, cutting his eyes at Sendak. "He's smart."

"Yeah," Sendak said.

"Uh, Keith Kogane," Keith dissuaded his attention from Lance's room with a handshake.

"Are you one of our clinicals students?" Sendak knitted a brow.

"Tell him you're from PAC Medical," Lance said, thinking off the top of his head. "Tell him you're a student in the AD program, and that you and your team were sent for a final evaluation by...Dr. Regris!"

"I'm from PAC Medical," Keith repeated, gesturing back at Hunk and Pidge. "We're part of the AD Program. Dr. Regris sent our team for a final evaluation."

Sendak squinted. "I had no verbal or written instructions on that end," he crossed his arms. "I wasn't aware students were allowed."

Even in spirit, Lance felt himself choking under the pressure of the moment. "Tell him that—that there's new evidence that full functionality can be restored..."

"There's new evidence that full functionality can be restored," Keith parroted. "We need to run some tests."

"Who's we?" Sendak asked.

"My team," Keith said tersely. "They're downstairs with a signed order from Dr. Regris."

_ Nicely done, _ Lance thought. But with the look on Sendak's face, they weren't remotely out of the woods.

"This is the first I've heard of this," Sendak said, glancing over Hunk and Pidge, who wore tight grins. "You mind if I talk to Dr. Regris about this?"

"Be our guest!" Pidge laughed nervously, Hunk nodding jerkily beside her.

"Go right ahead," Keith plastered on a smile, waving down the hall.

"Great," Sendak fished a phone out his coat pocket. Lance felt himself blanch. "I'll just get him on the phone..."

Keith's face went sour whip-fast. Lance watched a muscle in his jaw twitch.

"Keith—" Lance started, and then let out a shrill yelp as Keith reared a fist back and popped it hard into the side of Sendak's face.

"Oh, my god!" Pidge cried.

The door to Lance's hospital room opened from the inside, and out popped Rolo, wheeling Lance's body into the hall. He glanced over Sendak's body, who was now groaning on the floor. "Alright, sweet."

"The felonies just keep piling up, don't they?" Hunk asked.

"I'm not a good doctor!" Keith rasped, flicking his eyes Lance's way. "I'm really not."

Amidst the frenzy of hauling Lance's gurney out in the open, Lance spotted Dr. Holt down the hall. Fellow nurses eyed where Sendak had fallen before all taking initiative in marching towards them.

"Keith," Lance waved.

Pidge went bug-eyed, white-knuckling the gurney. "My mom!"

"Go!" Rolo shouted, pushing the gurney with Keith and flagging for their accomplices to follow. "Go, go!"

Behind them, Sendak growled for security as they made their escape down the adjoining hall.

"Don't jostle," Lance said as he jogged beside Keith. "Go faster!"

"Kinda hard to do both at once," Keith grunted.

"What'd he say?" Hunk asked, guarding the gurney from behind.

"Take a right here!" Lance said.

"Take a right!" Keith repeated.

Hospital security popped out from the doors they'd sped past as they stole another turn down the hall. They had no precious second to breathe as the team's mad dash led them down the fluorescent atmosphere.

"Elevator!" Pidge cried, winded but unyielding. Lance made a vow then that, if their mission were to end right, to thank her graciously.

He had to make it back. He had to make it back to Keith. Giving up was certainly not an option, and neither was leaving.

As they made a break for it, another security guard sprinted out from the direction of the floor's lobby, running towards them. "Hey, wait!" he wagged a finger, tensed to lunge. "Stop right there!"

From where Rolo had been helping tote the gurney, he made the wild decision then to part from the group and hurl himself at the security guard. He tackled him into the elevator.

"Keep going!" Rolo hollered back.

And the rest of the gang kept on in their path as the alternative was no longer an option.

Rolo wrestled out under the grip of the security guard, who raised a hand to subdue him with a fist full of — Lance's breathing tube.

Rolo slumped. "Oh, shit."

 

 

\---

 

Love drives men crazy. Keith had heard that from Shiro once, and in his more bitter days, he had acknowledged that with a scoff. Now he painfully understood all too well. A reckless mind had become a reckless heart. He was going to sacrifice everything.

As they raced towards the hospital's lobby, his mind clouded like white noise. A crowd of doctors and nurses surged around them, coming from every adjoining hall, shouting at them. Some to stop them, others to watch.

Keith's pulse thumped in his ears as Pidge, Hunk, and himself had no option but to halt center lobby. He held a vice-like grip to the bars of the gurney, minding the panic washing over his friends' faces. His gaze flitted to Lance, who stood in front of them, frozen—catatonic, probably.

Tears bubbled the corners of Lance's eyes, trained beyond Keith's shoulder. "Keith," is all that left his throat.

Keith glanced behind himself.

Lori. She gawked back herself. Not only was she there, but there were several unfamiliar faces behind her, too. And Keith instantly knew. Lance's family. They were there to let him go.

"Keith," Lance said again, more persistent this time. He pointed to his body on the gurney, trembling. A worm of fear twisted in Keith's gut. "My breathing tube is gone."

"No," Keith shook his head. He took the limp hand of Lance's from the gurney. "No!"

Hunk and Pidge looked at each other with reflecting horror. The beep of Lance's connected heart monitor slowed in its once steady pattern.

"What can I do?" Keith asked Lance, looking up at his spirit desperately.

"It's too late," Lance said, shaking his head. "It's too late. It's happening."

"Don't," Keith begged. Hunk and Pidge followed his gaze to nothing as he suffered watching Lance's spirit vaporize slowly.

"It's strong," Lance wept. His skin went transparent as the beeping of his body's ventilator declined. "It's pulling me away."

And the machine flatlined.

_ Dying. He's dying. _

"Lance!" Keith pleaded. "No, no. Stay with me, please." He tore his gaze away from Lance's spirit and knelt to his body. Keith cupped his face in his hands and kissed him there in the middle of the lobby.

As Lance's spirit became clear as water, he touched a hand to lips and evaporated with a gasp.

If Keith imagined it, he might render himself both cursed and insane as the lips beneath his parted for air. Before he was so much as allowed to process it, the hand of a security guard yanked him back by the collar of his lab coat and pulled him from the gurney. Keith stayed in a momentary daze, chest gone tight as his eyes locked on the empty space where Lance's spirit once stood.

_ "Keith," _ the air whispered softly.

"Lance!" Keith called out. He desperately wrenched himself from the security guard's hold as Hunk and Pidge stayed back in the custody of others'.

When he stood, Lori was slowly approaching the gurney of Lance's body, a mask of a blush around her misty eyes. The rest of her family stayed behind, sobs echoing off the walls, one woman even breaking into a wail until the most miraculous noise cut through the lobby. Keith flinched as Lance's heart monitor beeped with life, and the halls fell blessedly quiet under the sound of the machine.

"What's going on?" Lori asked quietly.

"That's not possible," Keith heard Sendak say behind him. "That's not possible..."

Lance's chest rose off the gurney with a little cough. He whimpered, and Keith had never been more relieved to hear any sound, ever.

Lori dropped her shoulder bag and hastened to his gurney, leaning over him. An older woman behind her with resembling features followed in suit, rubbing her red-rimmed eyes.

"Lance? Can you hear me? Oh, my god," Lori touched his arm, rubbing it. "Oh, my god, I can't believe we almost let you go."

"Sweetie?" the woman beside Lori cupped Lance's cheek, standing at the head of the gurney. "It's me, Lance. It's mommy."

Keith, awestruck, watched Lance lift his head.

"Mom?" Lance asked hoarsely, squinting up. His face pinched, and he dropped his head back against his pillow, sighing. "Ugh. I think I bumped my head."

Lori laughed softly, clutching his hand. She looked up and met Keith's wide-eyed gaze, nodding with a recognition that set him at ease. "It's okay," she blinked and kept her tears at bay. "It's okay."

Keith walked to Lance's gurney, clutching the bordering bars and looking over him. His heart felt summer-light. "Hey," he said, a single word that carried every weight in the universe.

Lance's eyes found his. Dark circles shadowed them, and though he was still sickly pale from sleep, he looked more beautiful than ever.

"Hello," Lance blinked.

"It's me," Keith smiled. "It's Keith."

Lance scrutinized him with a careworn look in his eyes, and Keith swallowed shallowly.

"Honey, it's Keith," Lori shook her head. "You don't remember Keith?"

"The apartment," Keith supplied, hopeful and holding Lance's attention again. Lance's gaze remained vacant, unregistering. "What about Hunk and Pidge?" he gestured back at his two accomplices, who both waved sheepishly. Dr. Holt was there, too, holding her daughter's shoulder. "Anything?"

Lance shook his head slowly, meek. "I'm sorry. I-I don't... Lori?" He looked at his sister for help, and his mom laid a hand on his shoulder, exchanging a glance with Lori.

Keith reached for Lance's hand, and it twitched under his fingers, jerking away when he had just grazed them. He felt his chest go tight, as if he'd been punched. How could he not remember? How could he forget? How? He lifted his gaze to Lori himself, desperately searching for an answer there, where he knew it wasn't.

"I'm sorry," Lori shook her head again, at Keith this time. Her lips pinched apologetically, like she didn't know what to say herself.

Keith stole another look at Lance, a feeling like thorns in his belly spiking by the unfamiliar and frightened shimmer in blue eyes.

He really didn't remember. And it hit him like a freight train to realize he had just become a ghost to Lance.

It took all his willpower to back away then. He barely gave a goodbye nod to Lori, to even show he understood, when he really couldn't. A quiet murmur spread amongst the lobby when Keith turned around, finding Hunk and Pidge staring worriedly back at him. The crowd of doctors and nurses made a show of parting a path in the hall for Keith, but they were still watching him go. He stole a final glance over his shoulder, watching Lance get pulled into a hug by his sister as the remainder of his relatives crowded in on him.

How could he not have reminded himself of this in the first place? Being forgotten by a spirit had always left him with a sense of abandonment.

 

 

\---

 

A violent wave of emotion left Keith absent to the world. His grief had filled him with rage, doubt, and jealousy; not directed at other people, but because of his lost moments, the time with Lance that had been stolen from him. He keenly felt the lack of the other. And while he was absolutely at the point of breaking into little bits, the one upside to all that had happened was the curtain coming down on his clairvoyance. No spirit had approached him after Lance. He hadn't seen one again the day after the hospital, not even old Henry from work.

He'd been so happy with the way Lance's presence filled his life, and he hadn't even been able to express it to the extent he wanted to. To think of his smile, his laugh, the way his lip pouted in a loud disagreement to some of the things Keith would say. Lance had been so fragile in his arms the day of their failed escape, and Keith had been so strongly and straightforwardly in love that he had been afraid of nothing but his death.

At the beginning of one rainy day, Keith agreed to a day out with Shiro and Allura, and Allura's trying attitude in making him feel included in their shopping escapade somehow worsened the situation. Keith never felt like a third-wheel around them, but her persistence to make him feel otherwise was stifling. A couple hours after brunch passed, when she bid them goodbye, Shiro suggested he and Keith finally take to the park for a talk.

He left Keith at a bench to grab them both a coffee, and in the meantime, Keith had nothing to do but twiddle his thumbs. He glanced behind himself, past the small hill veiling the view of the park chapel, and pulled the scarf around his neck tighter. Of course, this was the very park bench he'd sat with Lance that night.

_ "I mean, if I could just remember who I am, or what I did, then at least I'd know... I mean, once and for all. If I was. I'm trying to figure it out, I just," Lance twiddled his fingers and pulled a wounded puppy face at Keith. "I can't do it by myself." _

The vibration of a text pulled Keith out of his reverie. He knew if he checked it, he'd only see all his unanswered texts from Hunk, Pidge, or even Rolo. Answering felt like a struggle in its own, too. Every time he pulled down the notifications bar, he felt nauseated by the idea of recounting how he'd left the hospital. Keith pulled out his phone and checked the text anyway.

_ Pidge: are u alive? _

_ Pidge: don't ignore my texts, allura told me u guys went out for waffles today _

That sellout!

_ Pidge: we can trying talking to him, keith... it's been like a week _

_ Keith: I don't want to. _

_ Hunk: HE LIVES! _

_ Keith: ... _

_ Keith: Take me off of group chat, Pidge. _

_ Hunk: Pidge is right! We should talk to Lance together _

_ Rolo: Man do I know how to help :) _

"Who you talking to?" Shiro asked, approaching the bench with a tray of their coffees.

"No one," Keith shoved his phone back in his coat pocket, shaking his head with a scowl.

Shiro handed him his coffee, and then gave a half-smile, one that looked a little constipated. "They're still trying to talk you into meeting him again, huh?" Keith gave him a look, and Shiro raised his hands defensively. "I know, I know. You don't want to talk about."

"Can we please just put this to rest, then?" Keith blew on the rim of his steaming lid, letting the warmth of it billow back to him.

"That doesn't seem to be working for you, either."

How he can read his mind in a split instant, Keith will never know. But even then, Shiro's concern of him for the past week he'd spent being a hermit had been unwavering. And deep down, Keith was desperate for that kind of attention, too.

Keith sank against the bench, sighing. "I couldn't," he shook his head. "He looked so...scared of me. He didn't even recognize me."

"First impressions don't go well sometimes," Shiro shrugged a shoulder. "It happens."

Keith scoffed. "You weren't there."

"I wasn't," Shiro said. He crossed one knee over the other. "But you have to ask yourself, is it really worth giving up? You let one first look call whether or not you should be in his life again?"

Keith furrowed a brow, dodging glances with Shiro. "I...I don't even know how to approach him, Shiro," he casted his eyes back to his beverage, wounded. "I don't even know what to say to him. I just wish he could remember."

Remembering would make everything easier, Keith thought. A small silence ensued before he heard a small  _ hm _ next to himself.

"So make him," Shiro was staring ahead for a good moment, watching the street. He nodded slightly, and then fixed Keith with a smile that looked more decisive, something that had bloomed an idea. "Make him remember you."

 

 

\---

 

Since Lance had awoken from his coma those weeks ago, adjusting to his regular life felt like something that was never coming to an end. He'd been robbed of three months of his life. Three months of his family, three months of his friends, and that wasn't even the kicker. The world itself felt different, like a dream walk where everything made perfect sense and yet, there was this big hole of a memory he could not procure for the life of him.

His family had filled him in on the details the day he'd woken, but he had been barely able to speak—all those weeks with a feeding tube had severely compromised his vocal cords, and it had taken time to heal. After that, his sister had taken him back to live with her for a while.

"It's just until you make a full recovery," Lori had said. She glanced away from him, adding quietly. "Until the current tenants finish moving out."

The following days were stranger. When he'd been at the park, just across from Lori's house, chasing his niece and nephew, Lance had caught the vague feeling he was waiting on someone else, too. It was like the absence he felt was so intuitive, so emptying; lonely when he was anything but. Or the day he'd been filling the parking meter just outsides Barnes & Noble, and he'd caught a glimpse of a shaggy guy—oh, Lori's ex, staring at him from behind the shop window, raising a thumbs up with a lax smirk. Lance had returned the gesture, wary and confused. Those occasions weren't nearly what bothered him most. That stranger from the hospital.

_ What was his name? _

Grey-blue eyes, so dark they were bordering violet. Ruggedly handsome and leaning over Lance, like they'd been acquainted with each other for years. If his body hadn't felt so stone cold, he was sure he would have blushed under a gaze so smoldering. But he did not know him, and so the guy left, which left Lance having an internal war with his stupidity later.

On New Year's Eve, he finally moved back into his loft.

"Now remember, mom and dad'll be here around eight," Lori said as they entered the apartment. "Oscar's getting off early today and," she fished a hand through her purse, sighing. "Where'd I put my phone? I have to pick up gram from Aunt Cindy's."

Lance went ahead into the living room, turning and basking in the way the daylight bounced off of sun-dappled wood flooring. He scrutinized the walls, the couch, the way the table was set. It was all the furniture, just the way it'd been arranged, just as he remembered it had been.

"Did you guys change anything?" Lance asked, facing Lori.

She blinked at him. "Everything's just as you left it," Lori shrugged.

Lance wandered slowly to the window seat, squinting. "It's just funny," he shrugged, cheekily half-smiling. "I just have this weird feeling that something's missing."

"It has been awhile," Lori gave a sad little smile. She crossed the room afterwards, the concern in her eyes renewed. "You gonna be okay settling in while I'm gone?"

"I'll be fine," Lance gave a small laugh. Lori stretched out her arms, and they exchanged one quick embrace that meant everything at that time. "I'll be here when you guys get back."

"Mhm," Lori nodded, relinquishing her hold around him hesitantly. "And then we'll all get fat on gram's cake and tamales—"

"And we'll watch the ball drop," Lance finished. He grinned, the sound of the imagery giving a featherlight freshness to his reeling mind.

"That's right," Lori said. She gave a little wave on her way out. "I'll see you later, Lancey."

He took a seat in the alcove when she left, gazing out the window, watching a cable car zip down the street. From the corner of his vision, something flashed in the coffee table that he'd been attentive enough to catch. Lance traced a digit on the mahogany tabletop and circled a coffee ring with a pinched brow. It aggravated him like crazy but, in that moment, he also found it delightfully humorous.

_ Some change,_ he thought, ridiculing his paranoia.

And if he wanted, he could allow himself the luxury at poking a little fun at himself, even when his ill memory made him want to break. He survived a three month coma, for goodness sake, he could conquer anything.

Lance stood up and wandered the rest of the loft, roaming through the halls, detached from every wall piece, everything he once found so familiar. If he could just find out what was wrong, it would allow his mind to settle at the very least. Lance felt a draft in the entry hall. An uprush of the cold made his skin prickle with goosebumps, and he looked down from where it came from. A pale glow of sunlight streamed from the stairway to the rooftop. He followed it slowly, a patter in his chest as he took up the stairs, and the air became fragrant of the cold and petals. And there it was. The rooftop. His rooftop, but not the one of his memories.

A trail of teak wood slats led to a spiraling pentagon of a deck—a real deck, and not the dirty gravel he had been familiar with. Skinny pergolas sat at the edges, draped with fat winter blossoms and covered in vinery. It wasn't an artist's work of a garden, but it was more than anything Lance could ever imagine to do with his two hands. He was quickly losing count of how many potted plants there were, and then his eyes fell on the telescope perched in the middle of it all. His breath caught as he walked towards it. That was his telescope, the one he'd been working so long for with Coran.

The clatter of gravel snapped him out of his reverie. Lance glanced fast to the right and saw him. The stranger from the hospital. Keith, he collected his name from a foggy thought, was setting down a large pot, overflowing with flowers.

"Hi," Keith said, looking a little surprised. He approached the deck slowly, patting his gloved hands together. The look on his face was wary.

Lance blinked in a good stupor before collecting his words. "How did you get up here?" he asked.

"Spare key," Keith said. "From under the fire extinguisher?" He raised a brow, and Lance thought that odd, as it was said almost pointedly.

"Did you do this?" Lance pointed around himself vaguely, brows knitting up.

Keith shrugged and planted his hands on his hips. "Sort of a team effort," he said and smiled lightly. It disappeared shortly after. "Sort of an 'I'm sorry' present."

A silence ran between them, and as soon as Lance felt the need to fill the gap, Keith spoke again.

"I just wanted you to have your observation deck."

Lance felt himself flush. He closed his mouth. "Oh," was all he could manage, feeling silly for it. His lacking confidence in speaking now was stifling. How did he know that?

"Look, the last thing I want to do is scare you," Keith seemed to wince. He lingered there, waiting for a word of finality before nodding like it was his cue. "Bye, Lance."

Then Keith turned on his heel, and Lance watched him leave until, at that moment, without knowing why, he turned and called after him. "Wait!"

And he did. Keith looked at Lance again, the corners of his lips upturned slightly.

Lance gulped, and his heart pattered. "The key," he heard himself say. "I need the key back."

"Oh," Keith deflated. "Right." He patted his pockets, fished into one, and pulled it out before walking up to Lance.

They stood face-to-face. Lance felt his face grow hotter. His memories were right. Keith was offensively better looking up close, in a way that he must obviously be oblivious with. His eyes were a mix of blue and violet, two different reads depending on the light. Lance's heart thumped painfully in his chest. Angry tears stung his vision, but he blinked to keep them at bay as his head swam.

"How do I know you?" Lance asked faintly.

Keith extended the key out to him. His smile looked sad. "Maybe from your dreams," he placed the key in Lance's hand, and his fingers curled into Lance's open palm.

Lance's vision clouded.

 

_ "All I know is when I'm not with you, it's like I don't exist... / I think if you could ever really touch me, I might wake up from all of this... / ..You love me?" _

 

Lance shook his head. His cheeks and nose prickled of telling tears. "It wasn't a dream," he whispered.

Keith smiled with an immeasurable amount of certainty, and he shook his head. "No," his gaze was so intense that it made Lance's stomach drop.

Boldly, Keith took his face between his palms and kissed him, long and hungry and blotting out the sky. And all Lance could do then was succumb to the warmth of his mouth, where his heart felt steady and erratic at once, and his arms sought to circle Keith's shoulders with a mind of their own. Tears spilled treacherously over his cheeks until Keith pulled back and kissed him there, too, firm and eager and everything he had desired when he'd been untouchable for what felt like forever.

_ "Keith," _ Lance whimpered a truly embarrassing noise, like it had a thousands meanings, and there wasn't enough sorry in the world.

"Yeah," Keith breathed, soft and intimate in a way that would drive Lance up a wall. He kissed the bridge of his pinkened nose, thumbing circles lightly over wet cheekbones.

The chilly air cooled the tracks of Lance's tears, and he took a stuttering breath. He felt his mouth go dry when they locked gazes again. Keith's eyes never wavered in their intensity, it winded Lance. Even after the terrible thing he had done by wounding Keith, and that he'd done it so unconsciously with his wiped memory. How could he look at him like that?

"You left," Lance said. Keith's palms felt so warm against his cheeks, it made him ache nearly.

"Yeah," Keith said again. His nose brushed very lightly with Lance's. "I did. But I needed you to remember, so I—"

"I love you!" Lance blurted very clearly. Keith's reaction was immediate and visceral, eyes widening a fraction. Lance placed his hand on Keith's, where it still lingered on his cheek. "I'm sorry it took me so long to come back to you. I woke up with a clean slate, and when I saw you at the hospital, I could hardly speak or remember, but it was you! It was you, and I didn't know, and I'm really, really embarrassingly into you, okay? And I love you, so please, please.."

Keith brushed a thumb across his underlip, stunning him into silence. Everything about his body looked tense as he stared at Lance, but his expression was more earnest and open than he can ever remember it being.

"You love me," Keith said slowly, as if it were meant to be debated.

Lance snorted quietly after a moment. "I think that's what I heard myself say."

"You love me."

"Obviously."

"Just checking," Keith nodded, and he pressed another firm kiss to Lance's mouth. Its bitter-sweetness was rapidly becoming his favorite thing. His arms slipped around Lance's waist and pulled him impossibly closer as the new silence spoke volumes over what any word could say.

This was love. The kind people would fight for, the kind Lance had dreamed hopelessly for. Keith had been with him all the way, from the apartment, to the Bay, to his crazy sister's, to the hospital. Because that was what love did to him. It made him swoon into a blushed oblivion.

After a while, Lance lifted his head and rubbed his nose into Keith's shoulder in retaliation. "Thanks for making me cry, you jerk."

"I can't help you being a baby," Keith honest-to-god smirked, and Lance gave him a little shove.

He looked at Keith with a smile beyond his control before taking his hands, rubbing his knuckles. "Let's go inside," he tugged gently. "I have family coming soon. I want them to meet the guy who saved my life."

Keith arched a brow. "They'd believe your story?"

"Yes," Lance bounced his head in a nod. He looked up briefly. "Maybe."

"Anything for me to stay, huh," Keith raised their hands, kissing the inside of Lance's wrist and making his heart positively melt in the midst of brisk weather.

"Yes," Lance repeated, a whisper. "And gram's making pineapple upside-down again. It used to be my grandpa's favorite, and if I must say, he was an excellent critic."

Keith held his lips to Lance's wrist in a thoughtful pause. He lowered their hands and tilted his head, inquisitive. "Did his—" he blinked, glancing aside. "Was his name Henry?"

"Yeah," Lance beamed. "How'd you know?"

"Wild guess," Keith smiled.

The way he looked at Lance made him no longer feel incomplete. And Lance, ever the romantic and receiver of none, was whole. Every part of him felt awake and alive. Everything was right.

 

[☼](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SJEATGbimko) 

   

You,  
Soft and only.  
You,  
Lost and lonely.  
You,  
Just like heaven.

— [Just Like Heaven](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SJEATGbimko)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ᵕ́ૢ‧̮ᵕ̀ૢ) righteous.
> 
> ah, you guys have no idea how much pride it gives me to say i finally completed this fic. this movie makes me soft, and so do these boys. i did it! it's done! and i am so, so thankful to anyone that's followed along. you guys are amazing.
> 
> and, as always, please, PLEASE feel free to drop a comment, leave kudos, or follow up on my future projects. there's a lot in store. ♥️
> 
> come chat with me on twitter! [@peachgrdn](https://mobile.twitter.com/peachgrdn) / tumblr : [peachgrdn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/peachgrdn)


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